


What it means to have nerve damage

by Xenay



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Accidents, Body Swap, Desperation, Diapers, Gen, Incontinence, John is Curious, Mentions of past drug use, Mycroft has good intentions, Sherlock is embarrassed, UTI, Urinary Tract Infection, Wetting, You Have Been Warned, bladder problems, nappies, sherlock is incontinent, this is incredibly awkward, urinary incontinence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 23,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22776769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenay/pseuds/Xenay
Summary: Sherlock shows John what it’s like to be urinary incontinent because of nerve damage. He is still surprised that the doctor doesn’t pity him or finds him disgusting.“I think I get what you mean with ‘all that matters is the brain, everything else is just transport’. Because you’re still the most brilliant man I’ve ever seen.”(NOT SEXUAL IN ANY WAY AND NO JOHNLOCK SHIPPING!)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 70





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to work number 13 xD  
> I decided to write another incontinence fic haha. This time Sherlock has had trouble with incontinence his whole life, and John wants to learn what it's like for Sherlock.  
> Again, this is all from my own personal experience and I will go into depth with it later on.  
> Who knows me will already know that whenever something bothers me, I write a fic/chapter about it. So.. today I had the anesthesia talk for my next surgery and when I had to elaborate about my incontinence, I just felt this whole awkwardness just wash over me again. I think you never really get over that, huh? Anyways, I hope that as many people will like this, as they did with my first ones 😊

John Watson never thought he would move in with a lunatic like Sherlock Holmes. Normal people would have listened to Donovan’s warning, yet John only found the weird man even more interesting because of it.

Over the first few days, the doctor had noticed something about Sherlock’s bathroom habits. Mainly that he wouldn’t go to the bathroom as many times as himself, or any normal person in general. 

At first he had put it off to Sherlock just not staying hydrated enough. He rarely saw him drink anything most of theday, anyways. 

He also noticed how Sherlock never laughed. He would grin while John laughed, but he wouldn’t laugh, himself. It was almost sad, and John actually wanted to hear him laugh, now.

Then they were on another case. John had been with him the whole day, and had needed to use the bathroom three times until now, yet Sherlock hasn’t gone a single time since that morning. It was 6pm; ten hours, and John was starting to get worried. 

They were currently in the lab at St Bart’s, Sherlock testing... something under the microscope. John walked behind him and cleared his throat. “Don’t you ever have to pee?”

Sherlock looked up from the microscope and gave him a funny look, then blinked as he looked away, as if he needed to think about it. “No?” 

“Is that a question?” John inquired.

“I don’t have to go. Now let me focus here.” Sherlock argued and went back to the experiment.

“Sherlock it’s been ten hours, you’re going to damage something..”

Sherlock snorted at that. Actually snorted. 

“What?” John demanded. 

But he didn’t get an answer, and he wouldn’t press it further. Let the genius piss himself and damage his kidneys if he wanted it so bad.

They solved the case. Well, Sherlock did. It was now 8pm and John had completely forgotten all about the whole bathroom situation. 

They were in the living room in their flat, John writing on his blog about the weirdest case so far. He couldn’t help but giggle as he typed out how the murderer had tried to remove his fingerprints from the knife by using peanut butter. 

“What’s so funny?” Sherlock asked him. 

“Just.. why peanut butter? What did he think it would do?” John wondered and burst into a fit of giggles again. 

“Well I know that peanut butter supposedly works to remove chewing gum from clothing, but he was a right idiot from the moment he killed his girlfriend.” Sherlock said and John completely burst out laughing. 

Sherlock didn’t laugh, he only smiled as he looked down on the floor. So John’s laughter died down quickly. “Why do you never laugh?” He finally asked the detective. 

“I just don’t.”

“Laughing is good for the soul, Sherlock.” John said with a grin. “Trust me, Doctor and all.” 

Sherlock glared at him now. “I don’t want to.” 

John backed away a bit. “Well you have to find Something funny.” 

“I really don’t.” 

John was suddenly right next to him. “Come oooon, lay off that ‘I’m above human things’ and just enjoy your life. You just put a murderer behind bars-“

“The police put him behind bars.”

“Whatever! You solved a mystery murder, and you should celebrate that.”

“By doing what? Laughing like a madman?”

“...yes.” John replied and got a funny look as he grinned goofily at Sherlock. 

Sherlock leaned away a little. “What are you- HEY! DON’T TOUCH ME!”

John was tickling his sides and stomach, that grin growing bigger as Sherlock slowly started to laugh. “JOHN STOP! HAHAHAHAHA!” 

“Nope.” John said fondly and kept tickling him. 

“I’M SE-RI-O-HOHOHO-US!” 

John actually started to laugh, himself. That is, until Sherlock really started to push his hands away. When he wouldn’t let up, Sherlock had gripped John by the wrists and held him a bit too tightly for John’s liking. They both stopped laughing immediately, and Sherlock looked away in shame as his face turned red.

John was a bit confused. “What’s wrong?” Had he hurt him? 

Sherlock heaved a sigh and suddenly looked completely distraught. He released John’s arms and made to roll up from the sofa to get away, but John stopped him. “Hey, don’t leave. What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” John asked him concernedly. 

Sherlock shook his head. “No.” 

That’s when John could smell it. “Did you just piss yourself?” The question coming out harsher than he had intended and Sherlock flinched at his words.

But John couldn’t see a wet patch on his pants, so he was rather intrigued as to what just happened. “I did tell you to use the bathroom.” He scolded, although he didn’t really mean it.

“You didn’t tell me to go; you asked me if I had to go.”

“Well why would you hold it so long until you.... where is that usual self control I always see on you?”

Sherlock bit his lip and shyly said “it’s hard to control something you can’t feel.”

John was dumbstruck by those words. “What you can’t feel- wait, are you telling me you’re-“

“Incontinent? Yes.”

“... I’m guessing that you’re wearing incontinence pads or something, then?” It would explain why his clothes and the sofa aren’t soiled.

“Of course.” Sherlock said as if that was the most obvious thing on the planet. Seeing how John still wasn’t moving, he added “if you could let me up to go change, that would be marvelous.” 

“Shit, sorry.” John muttered before moving out of the way. 

Without another word, Sherlock got up and went into his room to fetch a new ‘diaper’ and then vanished into the bathroom.

John started to think of so many questions. Questions that all of his medical books couldn’t tell him. 

What was it like, for Sherlock?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can probably already tell, this doesn't fully add up to the original series' happenings.  
> More later.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually really enjoy writing this xD even though it's really awkward for me to write certain words, this is a lot of fun lol
> 
> I also have the weirdest case ideas, ever. If anyone else has used them before, I gotta shake my hand to them.. you'll see.

John hadn't wanted to embarrass Sherlock further after what happened, so neither talked about the topic for the rest of the day.

The next morning, John was already up at six and preparing tea and breakfast. He had so many questions, but he didn't want to pester Sherlock. Especially not this early in the morning. 

John decided on eggs and bacon when Sherlock's bedroom door opened and the detective groggily walked straight into the bathroom with a fresh set of clothes in his arm.

Sherlock doesn't wet himself at night often - a fact he is more than thankful for - and stripped down to his bare skin. He wanted to take a shower, and he didn't feel like he'd have to use the toilet right now, so he decided to just go afterwards. It was still very early - John woke him up way before he would normally get up after a case, so he figured that his body could wait for a few minutes.

Hopping under the hot shower, he briefly wondered what John was making. Then the events of last night hit him and he froze under the spray of water. 

'Did you just piss yourself?' There hadn't been real, actual disgust in his voice. Only a bit of shock and annoyance, but to Sherlock it sounded all the same. After all, it hadn't been the first time someone had asked him that.

Sherlock shuddered at the thought and grabbed the soap bottle. No, John wasn't like the others. John was different. 

He had to be.

As Sherlock spread the soap over his body, he accidentally pushed against his soft belly and was earned a short, very sharp stab of pain and he hissed as he squirmed momentarily. Maybe taking a shower first hadn't been his best idea this morning. No matter, he'd just have to hurry up a bit and then he could just use the toilet that was barely two feet away from the shower.

The warm water trailing down his body didn't exactly help matters, but he got himself rinsed off pretty quickly and reached for his towel. 

He had quickly dried his upper body as not to drip on the floor, when he could suddenly smell John cooking. The fatty smell of the bacon sizzling in the pan itched in his nose.

'Don't sneeze.. don't sneeze Don't Sneeze Don'tSneezeDON'TSNE-' "ATCHOO! A-TCHOO! HA-TCHOO!" He sneezed loudly, but even crossing his legs was futile. His bladder had leaked from the momentary stress on it and now the tiles in front of the shower were wet. He moaned in annoyance; he'd have to clean that up now, too. But after he actually used the toilet, because he wasn't keen on any further accidents and clean ups.

Stepping over the little accident, he walked the short distance and sat down on the toilet, meanwhile drying the rest of himself off.

Then there was a knock at the door. "Sherlock? Everything okay?" 

Sherlock suddenly panicked, before he remembered that he had locked the door. "Yes!" He called out. 

"Alright. Breakfast is done, just come when you're ready." 

Sherlock didn't bother replying and got up to flush when he thought he was done. When he went over to the sink he stepped into something wet, and already knew what it was. Putting the towel down on the sink counter, he took a deep breath to push down his annoyance, he grabbed the still unused diaper from yesterday and pulled it up over his legs like normal underwear. Then he swung his wet foot up and into the sink and gave it a quick second washing. This was nothing new; he could use the bathroom and as soon as he got up, his bladder would Then decide to release the very last of its hold. It just normally hit the padding of the diaper instead of the floor. 

Foot dry, he threw the towel on the floor and dried it with it. He'd just throw it into the washing machine later.

Sherlock then got dressed quickly and joined John in the kitchen. 

"Morning." John said as he joined him. 

"Mm." Still a bit mortified at how everything had gone since yesterday, Sherlock wouldn't meet his eyes.

John could tell. "Listen. It's nothing to be embarrassed about."

Sherlock didn't believe that. Not one tiny bit. "You're wrong." 

John hadn't expected that response. "Sherlock, believe me. You have nothing to be em-"

"Well. It's easy for you to say. You don't have to live like this, do you?"

Now it was Sherlock who glared at John, and John who looked away. "You're right. I don't know what it's like."

Sherlock clenched his jaws and looked away again. 

"Please just eat something, at least." 

Sherlock huffed but picked up his fork anyways.

When Sherlock was almost done with his breakfast, John had finally mustered up the courage to ask. "Can you show me your.. um.." not wanting to embarrass him further, he decided on "your padded pants?"

Sherlock froze mid-chew. Did he hear him correctly just now? He swallowed it down before replying. "John, I think that is mildly inappropriate." 

Then John realized that he should have worded that better. "Not what you're wearing right now; I meant just what they look like in general." He clarified and Sherlock muttered an "oh" in understanding. "I'm pretty sure they have changed in design and whatnot, from when I had to study it. I'm just curious." 

Sherlock contemplated that genuine request. Then he nodded and got up to go to his room. 

He returned with a fresh one in his hands, still folded from the packaging. "Here." Sherlock said as he handed it over to John, feeling incredibly awkward. 

John regarded him with a "thank you" and folded it open. They definitely looked different from what he had seen in the books all those years ago. And touched, as his professor gave one around and then showed what happened when the padding got wet, in one lesson. 

The major differences were: they have gotten a lot thinner, and back then all you could do was tape them on like actual diapers. These had a wide, thin elastic that went all around and mimicked a normal pair of boxers. 

"The sides can be opened, so you don't have to completely undress when changing out of them." Sherlock suddenly spoke up and pointed to the thin line that went from the leg hole, all the way up to where the elastic ended. John nodded in understanding. 

Sherlock felt strangely out of place as John checked out what he had to wear on a daily basis. Like if he had handed him a pair of his normal boxers, that he sometimes wore over the padded pants if he felt too self conscious about being in public, and paranoid that someone might hear the soft crinkle that sometimes occurred when he moved. 

"Sherlock, what's it like?" John's question brought Sherlock back to reality. He handed him the diaper back.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked and quirked and eyebrow. Did he mean what it's like to wear diapers? To wet them? What his incontinence was like?

"Everything, I guess." John said with a shrug. 

Sherlock didn't know what he should say. 

Then suddenly behind them, the door to their flat opened and Greg Lestrade came in. 

Sherlock quickly hid the diaper behind his back the moment he heard the loud steps, and he turned to him. "Back so soon? Don't tell me he now used peanut butter to break out of his cell." Sherlock deadpanned and John snorted behind him. Lestrade didn't seem to have noticed Sherlock hiding something behind his back.

"Worse. He apparently has an accomplice, who has taken over for him now. Will you come?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say that my case ideas were a bit... interesting lol. 
> 
> John MIGHT seem a little off character, depending on what you think of the whole 'giggling at crime scenes'.

Sherlock and John shared a quick glance. Then the detective turned his head back to the inspector. "Of course. We'll be right behind you." Sherlock said, just hoping that Greg would leave now.

Lestrade nodded and only said "I'll text you the address," before leaving the two alone.

Sherlock let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding and John raised an eyebrow at him. "So, he doesn't know."

Sherlock flushed a little. "No."

John couldn't help but smile. "Being modest doesn't suit you."

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Better than the alternative." He said and went to grab his long jacket.

'Alternative?' John wondered and hurried after him.

-

Sherlock stood in front of a laughing John Watson, fighting the urge to facepalm. 

"You- you never sa-hahaha-id he used HONEY!" John said between giggling and Lestrade was amused as well. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Can you two get it together, please? In case you didn't notice, there is an actual murderer going around, killing people by throwing them into a tub filled with honey. It's a disgusting waste of effort the bees put into it." 

'Ah, so that was the real reason why Sherlock was so upset,' John mused. Sherlock had a weird liking of bees that he couldn't put his finger on, and he could apparently get sentimental when it comes to something that involves bees.

"Yes, sorry. Any details you could make out, with all the honey?" Lestrade asked once John stopped giggling. 

Sherlock took a deep breath and started explaining everything that he could find out from a purse in the other room. "Judy Harrow, recently married, organ donor, had a daughter who passed away two years ago, quit her job as a teacher because of it and she knew her murderer."

"Wait, she knew him?"

"Yes. This was a setup. He had to buy over five hundred bottles of honey to be able to fill the tub. Wife didn't suspect anything, he probably told her how honey could make her skin better or something like that. She thought he was trying to make her feel better since it was around the anniversary of her daughters passing, went into the tub, and he pushed her head under."

John and Greg both cringed. "Jesus.. that guy is real nuts." Greg muttered. 

"She didn't deserve all this.." John added solemnly.

"Yes, no matter. There is a murderer still walking the streets." Sherlock said, all previous sentimentality forgotten. He was now the only one with a grin on his face as he walked out of the crime scene house. 

-

"Where are we going?" John asked as he hurried after Sherlock. 

"Tesco. They are the only ones who sell this specific brand." Sherlock explained.

"But there were no bottles in the entire house and surrounding area." John puzzled.

"I have a nose. Do you not?" Sherlock asked him sarcastically.

John just walked beside him and stared at him in awe. 

They found out that this specific honey brand was sold out, and when they asked one of the workers, they told them that a man came by every week for months and bought all of them. They described the man to them after they told them that they were working for the police - Sherlock showing them one of Lestrade's ID's - and then his co-worker allowed them to view the security camera footages. 

Sherlock texted Lestrade about the new leads and as they waited for the inspector to arrive so they could view them together, John and Sherlock were in a secluded area of the staff part of the building. 

They had gone into the empty staff kitchen room and closed the door. Sherlock didn't need to think right now and they were out of earshot, so John thought it was as good a time as any. 

"You still haven't told me what it's like." John started and Sherlock groaned.

"We are in a public place. What makes you think I'd tell you anything, when someone could come in at any time?" Sherlock stated and leaned against the wall opposite to the table. 

John leaned next to him. "At home, Mrs Hudson could come in at any time, too."

"True.." Sherlock relented. 

"Hey.. if you don't want to tell me anything, you don't have to." 

Sherlock shook his head. "It's not that... it's just.. incredibly embarrassing."

"I told you that you have nothing to feel embarrassed about. Not with me. Bodily fluids don't bother me, remember?" John tried to lift the tension a bit. But Sherlock still looked down. 

"I want to tell you, believe me. I just don't know how to even start. I've never talked about any of it before, with anyone.." Sherlock finally admitted.

John looked a bit worried at that. "You've never told a doctor about this?"

Sherlock suddenly smirked a bit. "Depends. Do you count, Doctor Watson?" 

John elbowed him jokingly, but when he hit the Belstaff, he heard a familiar sound. 

Sherlock seemed to catch on. "I always have a spare in a secret pocket in my jacket." He explained and touched the part next to his arm on the chest. The thick fabric muffling any possible sounds.

"Aren't you worried that someone might find out?" John asked him. 

Sherlock shrugged. "I never take my jacket off when I'm around other people, and besides: nobody would expect to find something like that in an inner, hidden breast pocket." John nodded at that. "I can't exactly go around with a handbag; not with Anderson and Donovan being so snoopy. And this way, it's impossible to even see. As you so kindly put it, I am a 'skinny git'." Sherlock said with a grin.

John could understand his logic. No one would suspect anything, unless they were actively looking for something. 

Sherlock suddenly looked at his watch. "He's two minutes late. Should have taken the other route.." he complained as he walked to the door. John followed him.

John saw Greg coming right back here with his two unmistakeable partners, saying "all right, gentlemen. Let's have a look at this honey lover." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be very deep, so prepare yourselves.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finally gets some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super revealing chapter. I just want to say now: I wrote things in this chapter that I never told ANYONE before, and it feels really strange to put this out there. 
> 
> PS if you want epic music to make this even more dramatic, I listen to this whenever I write: Evan King - Guardians Extended Version (https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=rYyVB-cxI6I) I'm a sucker for music like this haha. Two Steps from Hell aka Thomas Bergersen is one of my absolute favorites. But this piece in particular from Evan King is just GOD

They watched fifteen different videos in order to find the best angles and shots. It wasn't much of an issue to find the correct dates; the guy always came in about two hours after this particular brand had been restocked.

They couldn't get clear images, but they could make out important details like hair style, no beard, skin color and a scar on his face.

"Probably somewhere between his thirties and forties. Sherlock, what do you think?" Greg asked Sherlock, who had been quiet ever since they came into the room. 

"Yes, probably." He snapped distractedly as he did something on his phone. He looked tense. "If you'd excuse me, my annoying brother demands my attention." He said and left quickly without waiting for an answer, shutting the door behind him. 

John wanted to go after him and ask him what his brother wanted, but Lestrade held him back. "We could use your expertise on this, Doctor. Depending on what his brother wants this time, it could take a while for him to come back."

John relented. "Okay." He turned back to the many monitors. "He might be a bit older, but it's hard to tell... he could be working at a higher rank, judging by his posture, but I'm not Sherlock." 

Greg nodded and pointed to the monitors and handed over a USB stick. "We need copies of these videos, hopefully our softwares can help identify who he is." The security man nodded and began the process. 

John decided to go and check on Sherlock while the Yarders still discussed further actions. He stood in the empty hallway, wondering where the brilliant git had gone, until one of the doors at the end of the hall opened and the man in question came out. "There you are. What did your brother want?" 

Sherlock looked confused for a moment. "Oh right, my brother. He um.."

"He didn't actually text you, did he?" John figured as he glanced at the symbol next to the door. Men bathroom.

Sherlock looked around in case someone from the Yard could overhear them. "No."

"You use excuses often to 'slip away'?" John mused. 

"Sometimes." Sherlock replied, not really wanting to talk about this. 

"Why don't you just admit it when you.. 'have to go'? It's not a sin to let others see you're human." John was so gentle, but it still seemed to have struck a nerve for Sherlock. 

"Let's go home." Sherlock muttered, walking away in the direction of the exit.

"Sherlock.. I'm sorry if I upset you-"

"John. Let's go home. And talk." Sherlock said tensely. 

John nodded and followed him.

The entire cab ride was in silence as Sherlock thought about what he would tell John. 

Back at the flat, Sherlock locked the front door and made sure all the windows were closed, as well as shutting the blinds on them, engulfing them in darkness.

John thought this was a bit overly paranoid and dramatic behavior, but he let Sherlock do it.

They then sat down in their respective chairs and Sherlock heaved a heavy sigh. 

"Remember, you don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to, Sherlock." John reminded him gently. 

Sherlock gave no indications that he even listened. He took another deep breath. "When I was... god this is so stupid.." he complained as he put his hands over his face. He took a moment before continuing. "It's common for small children to have accidents in kindergarten." He stated, and John nodded. "I never stopped having them.. obviously. ... There was a small upstairs, just for the kids to play and crawl through tunnels. I always hid up there, because the other kids rarely came up there and the nursery teachers couldn't really fit in there." He had a faint smile. "They had to crawl in there, just to get me out. I still fought them the whole way, though. Since I couldn't really hold it, I liked to just hide, away from anyone else. But the teachers didn't agree with my plans. Whenever we had to sit in a circle, they had to go up that old staircase and forcefully get me out. Then they carried me by my arms to the bathrooms in order to change me." His smile got sad and John was a bit shocked, to be honest. "They had a washing machine and every piece of clothing had to have our name written in them, so they didn't really tell my parents. Only the first couple times. After that, they just said I was 'difficult'. One even claimed that they should have me evaluated for ADHD."

The smile was gone and Sherlock sighed again.

"When I was in primary school, I still had a lot of trouble with.. I couldn't..." he moaned this time, mumbling something about 'screw everything'.

"Sherlock.." John felt incredibly sympathetic. He could deduce where Sherlock tried to go with this, and he couldn't imagine what it had to have been like to still have accidents in school. Primary or not, he himself never had any accidents. Not even in kindergarten. "Sherlock you don't have to-"

Sherlock suddenly freed his face from his hands and looked like a mixture of angry, sad and a whole lot of embarrassment. "I fucking pissed myself. Every, damn, week. Sometimes a lot, sometimes it was barely noticeable. But I just.. I couldn't ask a teacher to be allowed in class. And we always had three hours until break, then another three hours until we could go home." He swallowed. 

"Sometimes, when we had a free period and had to sit in an empty classroom to do homework, the others would see me make the weirdest movements and asked me 'do you have to pee?'," he mimicked in a small, mocking voice, then looked away. "And I would piss myself and just say 'no'!" He clenched his eyes shut. "I said no.. he sat right next to me and could see it and I said no, and the chair was ruined." He said with his voice breaking and brought up his knees to his chest as he fought the tears that threatened to appear. 

John felt incredibly sorry for him. "It wasn't your fault.." he tried to soothe. 

"No.. the bathrooms were all the way down at the entrance, and my classroom was on the third story. Whoever designed a primary school like that deserves to be killed with peanut butter." John snorted at that.

Sherlock didn't pause, he was in 'confess' mode now and thinking about his childhood had him bathe in self loathing.

"Then came the swimming lessons. They were always in the afternoon, right after all lessons on those days. We'd ride a bus for about twenty to thirty minutes.." he swallowed again. "I never knew where the bathrooms were. I still don't, actually, I've looked everywhere whenever we were in that indoor pool but could never find a sign. Anyways.. We had to go into those rooms, boys separated from the girls, but no privacy whatsoever. All that the rooms had were benches and lockers. After we got changed, we got to run lines in the learners pool. Never really saw the purpose of that." He attempted to joke and John gave him a sad smile. 

"I had to go, of course. Otherwise I wouldn't tell you this. After running in the water, we had to come out and sit in a half circle in front of the teacher, while they explained in loooong depth and too many stupid jokes what we had to do next." Sherlock looked down at the floor again. "I wan-" he broke off as he held his breath a bit. "I wanted to ask.. I really did.." another painful swallow. "But I was already squirming about and had started to leak, and long before the teacher was even done with their stupid explanation, I already-"

John really wanted to stop him there. He couldn't bear to see him fall apart like this. 

"One of the girls started laughing and said 'it smells like pee! Someone peed themselves!' Damn snitches.." 

John had a millisecond of a grin etched on his face. "What about the teachers? Did they ever talk to your parents about it?"

Sherlock looked at John for a moment as he asked, then shook his head. "They didn't even realize it most of the time. The teachers, I mean. I always tried to hide it as best I could. Imagine being in class and your teacher suddenly yells at you for having an accident and dragging you out, and all your class mates could see it." John cringed at that image. "And my parents.. I never told them. They worked most of the day, Mycroft was busy studying. My pants would be dry by the time they were dumped in the washing machine. I rarely had accidents at home.. I just.. I can't feel it, John." He mustered up the courage to look at him briefly. "I rarely ever get an 'urge', that's why I often forget that I even should go." He finally explained.

"I had actually taken to putting mother's sanitary towels into my underwear when I knew it would be a long day. Though that became difficult when she started getting injections every three months to not get her period. It's kind of problematic when you're only guys in the family besides the mother. She noticed them disappearing and when she confronted me, all I said was that it was an experiment.." Sherlock bit his lip in shame. "I was forbidden to touch them after that." 

John felt really sorry for him. He was only a child and desperately wanted help, yet felt so ashamed that he couldn't reach out.

"When I was around 14, I had managed to go a whole 24 hours without using a bathroom,  _ twice _ , just because I kept forgetting it, since I never got a feeling." He looked at John to see him cringe. "I did go before falling asleep, don't worry. Though I was pretty freaked out about it." 

"I can imagine." Was all John could say to that. 

"When I had told my parents about it, all they said was that I just hadn't drank much. But it still seemed ridiculous to me." 

"It is. Incredibly ridiculous, to be frank. And incredibly unhealthy." John commented.

Sherlock shrugged. "I know.. normally I would feel pain or just discomfort from the tissues and muscles surrounding the bladder, but sometimes I don't even have that."

"Like when I asked you if you had to go, because it had been over ten hours?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded. "Most of the time I'd just run to a bathroom when my bladder just randomly decides to contract. That's the pain, by the way. But other times I don't get pain, and only realize what's gonna happen when I feel it in the urethra. Or well, when my skin feels it."

John was slightly shocked at all this information. Sherlock looked him in the eyes. 

"When you asked me why I don't just say so when I have to go, it's because I'm probably already leaking and I'm horribly, horribly embarrassed about calling any more attention to it. I'm afraid to speak up about it, because by the time I get permission, it's probably already too late. I don't always notice when I'm leaking.

I have nerve damage, John. It's just how I was born."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to drop this bomb today instead of tomorrow, because I'm currently writing at chapter 7 (it is that much fun lol), and once the case is finally over, there's gonna be a couple chapters with Sherlock and John having swapped bodies; simply because I love the idea and I have soo many ideas for it xD so prepare yourselves for that, if you like the idea. If not, you are always welcome to skip those.
> 
> Also I hope it's okay that I refer to the incontinence pants with 'diaper' and 'nappy', for lack of a better word and because writing 'incontinence pants' fife hundred times when you're dyslexic is a bit.... (autocorrect doesn't correct the word 'incontinence' for some reason whenever I spell it wrong lol)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is already getting so much love, aaaaaaa I love you guys! 💜

After their 'talk', Sherlock hurriedly opened the blinds and unlocked the front door again, apparently predicting that they'd get a visitor in the next few minutes. 

There was a knock on the door soon.

Sherlock went to the bathroom to finally put the towel into the washing machine as John went to open the door. 

"Lestrade, got any new leads?" 

Greg stepped inside. "Yes, as a matter of fact we do. And we need our 'consultant'. Where is he?"

"Here." Sherlock said as he came out and joined them. 

"Will you just come along in the p-"

"No." Sherlock interrupted.

"But it would go so much faster." Greg argued.

"I said 'no'." Sherlock said with a stoic face, though his voice showed his growingannoyance.

"Fine." Lestrade groaned. "It's just a few blocks further than the victim's house from this morning. Can't really miss it with the police cars and barrier tape."

"We'll be there." Sherlock said and Greg gave in and went back down the seventeen steps. He halted halfway down the stairs and turned back to look at Sherlock. "I wish you'd just come with me in the police car again. Like the old times." He said dejectedly and actually left this time.

Sherlock sighed. He could already hear the questions in John's head.

He closed the door after he was certain that Lestrade had left the building, then turned to John. 

"Why don't y-" "Accident right after a case. I still didn't have the pants; believe it or not but it takes a lot of courage to buy them. Anyways.. Lestrade wanted to bring me home and I.. completely soiled the car seat. He thought it was from the drug withdrawal. I never drove in a police car with him ever again after that." 

"Oh.."

Sherlock heaved another sigh. "Yes, now come on." He said and moved to open the door again.

"Why ride cabs, though?" John asked and Sherlock froze, then turned back to face John. 

"They don't really keep an eye on you the entire ride, and every cabbie in London had at least one child born on the back seats. You think urine would bother them?"

John snorted. "Police officers have a lot of drunk people puking on their car seats. You think urine would bother them?" John gently mocked. 

Sherlock shook his head at him. "Come on. We have a criminal waiting for us." 

They went down the stairs to the cellar and opened the heavy metal door.

"God, it reeks of piss down here." Donovan's sudden exclamation made Sherlock flinch just the slightest bit. John's eyes immediately flew on him and Sherlock shook his head at him, his eyes saying 'no, it wasn't me'.

"Not just piss. I think-... bleh, yeah, I'm pretty sure he's dead." Donovan added. 

Sherlock suddenly jumped to life, took her flashlight non-too-gently from her hands, ignoring her 'Ey!' and pushed himself down first. He shone around the cellar, and at first only the extreme onslaught of horrible smells registered. He went around a corner and found the body. 

He distinctly heard the others follow him - Donovan rushing back upstairs to throw up, with Anderson comforting her - and Sherlock just freaked. "No! No no no no!"

"What?" John and Lestrade both questioned.

"He can't be dead!"

John looked down at the very much dead body. "Uhm.. Sherlock, he  _is_ dead."

Greg came closer to the corpse, holding an arm over his nose as he checked the guy's head with his flashlight.

"Yep, pretty sure that's him. Probably couldn't deal with himself after he killed his wife." He stated as he stood back up and away from it.

"No!" Sherlock exclaimed once more.

"Sherlock!" John hissed at him now, not understanding why he was suddenly acting so... weird.

"No. He can't be dead. He wouldn't kill himself. He was patient, he had it all planned for MONTHS, only choosing that one brand when he could have just gone and bought every brand he could get. No, he wouldn't just kill his wife and then kill himself a few blocks over."

"Sherlock.." John muttered.

Sherlock groaned at the stupidity that surrounded him. 

"No, Sherlock, look." John said and pointed to a note that laid next to a gun, both close to the corpse. 

Sherlock shone his flashlight on it to read the note. 

'I'm sorry Judy, but it had to be done.'

Sherlock sniffed. "No. This is all wrong."

"Looks like your everyday murder suicide to me." Greg said and shrugged. 

"IT ISN'T!" Sherlock suddenly yelled. Why was nobody _listening_ to him?!

Both John and Greg were startled by the outburst. "Sherlock, calm down." John said gently. 

Sherlock took a couple deep breaths. "He was right handed. The note was clearly written with a left. Also the gun is to his left as well. Had he shot himself in the head, he would have done so with his dominant hand, and it would have fallen somewhere to his right-" Sherlock made a motion to his head, then let his arm fall down, which would have thrown the gun to the right side and not the left. "And besides. Who manages to shoot their brains out and then place a gun _perfectly_ on a suicide note he didn't write?" 

Greg suddenly felt his own stupidity punch him in the face. "Right.."

"So what are you saying?" John asked.

"There's a third." 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what? Have another chapter, because you are all so lovely 💜

Lestrade had tried to get more out of Sherlock, but it was in vain. The detective was agitated, and John couldn't figure out why. 

Maybe talking so deeply about his childhood had upset him more than he'd like to show?

When they got out of the house, John had had enough and grabbed Sherlock's arm to turn him towards him. "Sherlock, what- hey, are you feeling okay?" His face was a bit flushed, and his eyes were glazed over. John hadn't noticed it before in the pitch black cellar. 

John reflexively felt Sherlock's forehead with the back of his hand. "You have a fever. Have you even had anything to drink all day?" John tried to rack his brain. He could only remember Sherlock drinking maybe half a glass to his eggs and bacon. 

Sherlock tried to wave him off and shrugged the hand still holding his arm away. "I'm fine."

"Yeah, I don't believe that. You stop being fine when there's a fever involved. Come on, we are going to the closest restaurant. It's way past lunch time, anyways." Besides, he was starting to feel like he'd need to use the bathroom soon and figured that Sherlock should go as well. 

"I don't want anything to drink.." Sherlock argued but his voice lacked its usual fire. 

"No arguments. Come on Mister Google Maps, where do we go?" John asked him, since he would probably never have a good enough plan of the city in his head like Sherlock. 

Sherlock sighed but lead the way. 

It turned out that 'the closest restaurant' happened to be Angelo's, which was just a few blocks away (through a hidden passage that John never would have thought existed). 

After Sherlock's reluctance at ordering anything, John just ordered for the both of them (Angelo being more than happy to see them both again) and then John tugged him along to the - thankfully completely empty - bathrooms. 

"Why are you doing this?" Sherlock asked him agitatedly as he stood by the sinks with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Well, I have to go. Figured you would, too." John said simply. 

"I don't have to go." Sherlock argued. 

"I know. Try anyways." John said and went into one of the stalls.

Sherlock sighed in annoyance but entered the very last stall by the window. He felt ridiculous, because it's the same as being forced to eat when you're not even hungry. The thought to do so just doesn't cross your mind. 

Hearing John going made him feel slightly envious because of how he could just start and stop whenever he liked, and how _long_ he was going.. 

Then John was done, and Sherlock suddenly felt perverted, having just stood there in a stall and listening to John going. 

"Should I wait for you, or go out and wait for our food and drinks at the table?" He heard John ask.

"Just go. I'll.. come in a bit."

Thank god that John didn't question him. He heard the bathroom door open and close and just sighed once he was alone. 

He could do this. 

There was nobody there with him. No one who could hear the barely existing crinkling as he pulled his pants down. No one to judge him when he couldn't go. No one to judge him when he only went a ridiculously small amount, compared to others. 

He could do this.

... He wished he could have locked the bathroom door like the door to his stall. He was so riled up at some stranger possibly coming in and hearing him and _judging_ him . 

'Okay, don't panic. Nobody is gonna come in here. You can't hear any steps, the restaurant is barely filled due to it being late past lunch time. 

_Just. Pee_.'

But he still couldn't go. Frowning in annoyance, he started pinching the skin around his nose and eyes with his fingernails. 

'Just... there we go.' His nose itched and tickled. 

He had another one of his three-sneeze attacks, which he was sure the whole restaurant could hear, but he wasn't prepared for the intense pain he got in the tip of his urethra as he leaked from the force. 

'OW!'

'OOW!'

'FUUUUUUUCK' he screamed in his head as he bit his lips to keep from actually crying out.

Well, that would explain the fever. He was getting another infection. Fan-bloody-tastic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will be adding more tags soon.
> 
> Depending on how many more chapters I manage to write, you'll be getting a lot the next few days, because I have to go to the hospital for surgery on the 25th and probably won't have good phone reception for the few days that I'll be there. (And because I sooo wanna read your reactions to the body swap chapters 😂)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a matter of fact, UTI's and Laryngitis are pretty much the only things I get regularly, like other people catch every cold and flu they can lol

Due to his condition, Sherlock doesn't feel pain in his bladder when he gets infections. He could feel pain in his urethra when he peed, depending on how his nerves were feeling in that moment. He could feel pain in his kidneys if the infection progressed enough (he has had his fair share of kidney infections), but when it came to his bladder, the infection had to be extreme for him to feel pain there. And because of this, he often realized it way too late when he had one. 

UTI's weren't a rare thing. Due to his reflex incontinence (not getting any signals when he had to go) he often held it way longer than he should be able to, and due to the, at times near constant, leaking, his urethra was almost constantly surrounded by bacteria, making it an easy game for infections if he didn't change and clean often enough. 

John didn't need to know. He would force antibiotics and hundreds of liters of water down his throat and tie him to the bed until he was better, and there was a murderer STILL on the loose. It didn't help that this case seemed to drag on forever. 

Sherlock flushed the cloudy urine he had managed fo expel, washed his hands and joined John at the table.

He sat down opposite of him, the table still empty (safe for a suspicious burning candle). 

"Feel any better?" John asked him gently, though what he had really wanted to ask was 'were you able to go?'

Sherlock just nodded. He knew that the fever was most likely only going to get worse now, but he'd rather deal with this on his own. He had done it a good half million times before, he could handle it.

Angelo brought them their drinks, giving them strange smiles that Sherlock couldn't understand. John urged him to drink. "Dehydration won't help you any." He left away the 'incontinent or not'.

Sherlock humored him by taking a few small sips, the sparkling water was cool and he winced at what that implied. The human body can't use cold water as much as room temperature, and so it would filter right through to his.. bladder.

He mentally shuddered at the thought of sporadically leaking, with his urethra on fire, and him unable to do anything about it. 

John hoped that Sherlock wasn't coming down with something serious; that it was only dehydration that gave him a slight temperature and made him cranky. But he had a faint suspicion that it was more than that. 

After they were done eating ("On the house! Have a good time, my friends.") and on their way home, Sherlock was assaulted by the horrible burning sensation from earlier and had to stop dead in his tracks with a gasp. They were halfway home, he would Not disgrace himself. Not in front of John. 

He hissed in pain as he leaked again. 

'Hold it, hold it dammit, just hold it!' He mentally yelled at himself. 

"Sherlock.." John's voice was so sad and... was that pity? He put a comforting hand on Sherlock's shoulder as Sherlock stood hunched over slightly, trying everything he could think of to get a grip on himself and not leak again. He must have looked pretty pathetic, Sherlock reasoned for John's sudden pity. 

"You okay?" John asked him when Sherlock finally straightened back up. He felt a blush creep on his face.

"Fine. Let's just go home." 

John didn't believe him one bit, but decided to hurry a bit.

They managed to get home with just one further incident, because they had been waiting at a street light to turn green for them to cross over, and the short stand still had been Sherlock's undoing. He hadn't been in pain this time, but he leaked a considerable amount and despite having lived like this his entire life, it still made him wish for the ground to swallow him whole.

The moment they got home, Sherlock immediately ran to the bathroom and locked the door behind him. He was already leaking small drops, like a broken faucet. 

Damn that water.

Damn John making him drink so much.

Damn it all, he thought to himself as he pushed down his pants and sat down on the toilet.

He didn't feel pain as he went, and part of him hoped that maybe he caught it early enough and it wouldn't become a full blown urinary tract infection. 

But the other part knew that this wishful thinking wasn't realistic.

Once he was done, he realized his stupidity. He had rushed in here without a new diaper. He still kept them hidden in his room; after all these years of hiding his condition from others, he hadn't even thought of storing them in the bathroom, open and for everyone to see.

Yeah, not gonna happen.

With newfound annoyance at himself, he pulled the wet padding back up, unlocked the bathroom door, rushed into his room, grabbed a new one, disappeared back into the bathroom and locked the door once more. 

John never said anything about it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As weird as it sounds, I've woken up a couple of times with my hand between my legs in a non sexual way lol.   
> Also I often take fever baths instead of taking meds.

John was typing out their progress on the case on his blog when Sherlock finally came back out and joined him in the living room. 

Sherlock was down right embarrassed by the whole thing and refused to look at John as he made his way to lay down on the sofa. He felt miserable.

"How many bottles of honey did you say he bought?" John asked him after a standstill in his typing. 

"Over five hundred." Came Sherlock's quiet reply as he closed his eyes.

There was a short silence as John pondered over this.

"That's a lot of honey." John didn't get an answer. He looked over his laptop and saw that Sherlock had fallen asleep. He was out like a light.

He frowned. Sherlock was definitely getting sick. 

He would normally not rest until he solved the case. And now he was asleep, in the afternoon. 

John silently closed his laptop and got Sherlock a thin blanket, that he carefully draped over him, and decided on taking a bath.

Sherlock woke up a while later because of a burning sensation in his crotch and shifted. His eyes opened at once as he realized he had unconsciously grabbed himself with his hand in his sleep.

He also had a blanket over himself. Sherlock removed his hand from where it had been and pushed himself to a sitting position, looking around frantically to see if anyone was in the room with him. 

Seeing that he was alone, he calmed down a little. He felt that his pants were a little wet, which was most likely why he had woken up in the position he had been in. 

His legs got tangled in the blanket as he rolled off the sofa, resulting in him landing on the floor with a thud. 

Untangling himself, he pushed himself up and rushed to the bathroom, pushed down the handle-- 

and slammed against the locked door. 

Of course. He hadn't seen John. 

Sherlock mentally scolded his slow, sleep ridden brain. 

"Sherlock?" He heard John call from inside. Then he heard water splashing. "Hang on."

As he stood there, Sherlock was suddenly overcome with shivers as goosebumps littered his arms and legs. Why was it so cold in here?

John unlocked the door, standing there with only a towel wrapped around his middle. "Sorry, force of habit. Come in." John sheepishly said. Then he realized how Sherlock was flushed, sweating and shivering, and frowned.

They switched places, and while they only had a closed door separating each other, John could hear Sherlock give the tiniest of pained whimpers from inside. 

Had he completely wet himself because of John?

As he dripped bath water on the floor, John decided that he wanted to measure Sherlock's temperature. 

After hearing the flushing, he went back in. Sherlock wanted to get out and change himself, but John didn't let him go. "Stay here for a sec. I want to get your temp." John explained as he opened the cabinet and took out an ear thermometer. 

Sherlock groaned in annoyance but let John do it. John took his lack of a fight as another sign that he was ill.

The device beeped, and John bit his lip. "You have a pretty high fever. Take some p-"

"No."

John blinked at him. "Sherlock you need to take meds, your fever is slightly over 40C/104F, this is not the time for funny business. Just take some par-"

"I said NO!"

"Sherlock!"

"No! You can't force me!" 

John sighed. Lord give him strength. "You have to take something for that fever, Sherlock. Wether you want to or not."

"No."

"Sherlock."

"No."

"I'm not arguing with you about this."

"Good." Urgh, point for him. 

"It's either the pills, or a fever bath." John said sternly.

Sherlock seemed to consider this as he looked to the ground. "I can't take baths..."

"What?" John asked puzzled. 

"I said 'I can't take baths'."

John rolled his eyes. "I heard you. What I meant was 'why?'"

Sherlock didn't answer him and just worried his lip.

"Sherlock, either the bath, or the pills. You have to decide right now, before it goes any higher."

Sherlock sighed. "I can't take the pills.."

"Why not?" John asked him, again.

"They make it worse.."

"Sherlock, they are to lower your fever, not ra-"

"I don't mean the fever." Sherlock said, looking sternly at John, feverish and all.

"What then- oooh.." Realization dawned on him. "How do they make it worse?"

"... I used to take morphine, when I was so sick of it... I ended up not feeling anything anymore, and I didn't care about it."

John frowned a bit. "But I only want you to take paracetamol or something, not morphine."

"It's the same principle, though. I tried it the first few times but it just made it so much worse.." Sherlock admitted dazedly, and John figured the high fever had him say things he probably wouldn't say. 

"What do you mean with 'the first times'?"

"When I had infections, of course."

John wondered briefly what kind of infections, but they couldn't dwell on it. "Fine, no meds. Bath it is." John said, letting some of his bath water out and turning the handle on 'cold'. 

Sherlock was back for a moment. "No baths!"

"Sherlock, I can't have you shower like this, you might pass out." John tried to reason.

"But..." Sherlock bit his lip again and averted his gaze. John's hand stayed on the tap handle as he turned to look at him. 

"Sherlock, what is it?" 

Sherlock took some breaths to steel himself. "I can't be in water.."

Was this maybe a left over thing from what he had told John, about how he wet himself in swimming class in front of others? 

"Is it because of swimming class?" He asked.

Sherlock shook his head, then paused. "Maybe.. but not really."

"Then why?"

Sherlock swallowed. 

"Being in... water.. it.." he sighed. "It makes me... g-go.."

John 'ooh'ed. 

"It's gross.." Sherlock whined.

"It won't be so bad, you just went, Sherlock. And it will only be until your fever breaks. Now please come here because we have to get that fever down."

Sherlock wanted to tell him that it didn't matter sh*t if he went beforehand or not, but he just undressed himself, feeling the chills all over again as the colder air hit his burning skin. 

John let the lukewarm water into the tub and turned away as Sherlock went in, ignoring his complaints at John freezing him to death, and finally began to dry himself off.

Sherlock wasn't looking at him as John dressed himself, for which he was grateful. 

John still stayed with him once he was fully dressed, out of fear that Sherlock might still fall unconscious and drown. 

When Sherlock seemed more lucid, John checked his temperature again, and when he was happy with the results, asked him "can I go and grab you a fresh change of clothes for two minutes without you drowning?" He joked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes." At John's hesitation, he added "the 'pants' are in the drawer next to my bed."

John nodded and hurried to get everything in record time, not really wanting to leave Sherlock alone for too long. 

When he came back, he saw Sherlock's face scrunched in pain, holding his breath and body incredibly tense. 

Already knowing what was probably wrong, John told him "don't fight it, just let go."

Sherlock shook his head, for different reasons. It hurt to go. It _really_ hurt, and he definitely didn't want to yelp or even scream in John's presence. He didn't want to look like a wimp. 

Against his best efforts he just couldn't hold it and gave a silent whimper of pain, clenching his fists and digging his nails into his palms, jaw clenched as tightly as his eyes. 

John watched him with a shocked expression. "You never said you would be in this much pain." He commented and stepped closer after putting the pile of clothes on the counter top, and put a comforting hand on Sherlock's shoulder, when he saw it. 

Without really meaning to, his eyes had wandered downwards and were fixed on the reddish liquid coming out of his body, slowly mixing with the water. 

John inhaled sharply. So _this_ was the 'infection' that Sherlock was talking about. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I only realized after I wrote this, that I had made a little mistake. It's up to you and your imagination now, wether they have a separate shower and bathtub, or if you can shower in it lol
> 
> Also: imagine waking up after knee surgery in extreme pain because your body doesn't really respond to morphine, and then you're forced to try to walk to the bathroom the next morning, when you can't really feel both your legs, when you're incontinent and still have morphine in your system. Welcome to my life lol. (That was in 2018; the surgery I mentioned having soon will be to remove the metal on both my jaws)


	9. Chapter 9

Sherlock knew in that moment, that John had figured it out. 

John didn't say anything at first, only grabbed the thermometer again to check Sherlock's temperature. Satisfied that Sherlock's temperature was almost normal again, he ordered him out of the water.

"You get dressed and then you're on bed rest." John commanded.

"But the case.." Sherlock agued, though he didn't really care at this point.

"Sod the case! You are ill and you need a break."

Sherlock didn't argue any further after that. He got dressed, disposed of the used nappy, and went into his room, curling up in his bed. 

John came in later with some tea and Sherlock groaned at the idea of passing any more water. "Drink it. I know you don't want to but it will help." John said gently.

When Sherlock relented and drank from it, John added "and I want you to change immediately if you have accidents, no matter how small."

Sherlock nearly choked on the tea. "John that's insane! I'm not changing if I just-.. if I leak, once."

"Sherlock, we have to minimize the bacteria." John argued, and knew for a fact that a lot of 'healthy' people could have trouble holding urine when they had an UTI; just think of what they probably did to Sherlock. 

"Now get some rest. It's pretty late now, anyways." John said once the glass was fully empty. He felt a bit bad for making Sherlock drink tea right before bed, but he wanted to get started as soon as possible.

"I'm staying in the living room, so all you have to do is call for me, should you need me." John explained as he tucked Sherlock in.

"Why would I need you.."

"No reason at all. Good night."

John was woken up in the middle of the night because of pained moans. He pushed himself up and went to look for the source of the noise. 

He found the light in the bathroom shining from under the door and felt bad for his friend. 

He decided then and there that he had to get him antibiotics.

John then vanished back to the sofa and pretended not to have heard anything, to spare Sherlock's pride.

The next morning started awkward, to put it mildly. Because in order for John to get the correct antibiotics... "I need a sample." The doctor had said as he held out a small cup.

Sherlock immediately went beet red. "But I don't h-"

" _Please_ just try. It doesn't have to be much." 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him. "I hope you know what you're asking."

John shrugged. "Worst case, I could just tickle you again."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Ooh yes, I would. Sherlock, I can't see you suffer like this and not do anything.."

Sherlock growled something that sounded suspiciously like 'sentiment', but took the cup from John and vanished into the bathroom, locking the door as to keep tickle-happy Johns out.

A few tortuous trickles later, Sherlock handed John the cup over again and vanished back into his room. 

John brought him another cup of tea before he left for the surgery.

He came back about half an hour later with a package of antibiotics. "Sherlock, I'm home!" 

No answer. Putting his little bag down on the kitchen table, he glanced into the dark bedroom and saw him sleeping peacefully, and was just about to go outside to leave him in peace when he heard a phone vibrate. He flinched when he realized that it was Sherlock's phone.

Sprinting over as quietly as possible, John took the phone and was about to decline the incoming call, when he saw that it was Lestrade. 

Going out of Sherlock's bedroom and quietly leaning the door closed, he accepted the call. "Greg?"

"John?"

"Yeah, it's me. What's up?"

"We have news. We could get DNA from the gun and found out who the murderer was."

"...and?"

"The guy was found dead earlier. Car accident. The woman who crashed into him is in a coma, but he didn't make it."

"Sherlock's not gonna like this." Or maybe he would, since he had more important things to deal with right now, John thought.

"Yeah.. probably won't like it. Anyways, as far as we're concerned, the case is closed."

"Yeah, gotcha."

"Right. That's all."

"Okay, see you."

John ended the call and was startled when a voice behind him asked "was that Lestrade?"

John nearly dropped the phone, then turned to Sherlock. "Yeah. The murderer was found dead; car crash."

Sherlock didn't really react. "Hm. Shame."

"I got you antibiotics and I want you to take the first one now, since you're awake." John decided to get to the point now.

Sherlock rolled his eyes but asked "fine, where are they?"

"Kitchen table. Here," he handed him his phone back, "I'll get them for you."

Sherlock didn't say anything, and just waited for John to hand him the thick pills. 

"One, three times a day." The doctor explained. 

Sherlock just nodded and swallowed the first one with his tea. 

John didn't really know how to ask this next question any better and just decided on "are you wet at all?"

Sherlock's jaws clenched at the question and he refused to move a muscle. 

"Please, it's important. You don't have to say anything, just change if you're even the smallest bit wet." John begged and Sherlock felt incredibly awkward about it.

"What if I don't know if I'm wet?" Sherlock countered. 

"How can you not know if y--.." John trailed off when Sherlock gave him a death glare. 

Sherlock then sighed. "Fine, I'll go change." 

John couldn't believe that he had just won. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is it with me and these weird case ideas.. Warning for a bit of a gory image with this case. Also mentions of drugs.
> 
> Let me know if this needs any work warnings or needs to be ranked mature, because I'm really insecure about judging that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, we have reached over 600 hits in five days. FIVE. DAYS. You are INSANE XDD  
> Love you guys omg haha

Five days of antibiotics, six liters of tea and about two dozen nappy changes later, Sherlock was finally pain free and John let him stop taking the antibiotics. 

And what better way than to celebrate it by taking on a new case?

Lestrade had called, it was only a small case (John probably wouldn't have allowed Sherlock to leave, had it been bigger than a five) but they couldn't understand how it happened. 

John had asked Sherlock "do you feel up to it?"

And Sherlock had smirked and replied with "enough sitting around, John. The Game is back on!" Before throwing on his coat.

So now they were at the scene of the crime, standing around a body with chopped off arms and legs, but no blood, for some reason. 

"They carried the body here.." Sherlock muttered as he examined the corpse. "Been here about twelve hours.. but what did they do with the missing limbs.." He suddenly stood up and whirled around to John. "See if you can find any traces of blood or skin around here." John just nodded and did as he was told.

Meanwhile Sherlock was searching things on his phone. Greg cleared his throat behind him. "Sherlock.. can we talk for a mo?"

Switching off his phone, Sherlock put it away and gave him his full attention.

Greg made sure that nobody was watching them. "Listen.. I know about your little problem."

Sherlock's heart stopped for three seconds. "My problem?"

"Yes, you know the um.." he took a breath. "I know you've been sick."

Sherlock blinked. "Yes?"

"And John had to go and fetch you antibiotics."

Sherlock briefly wondered who in the world had told him about it. "Yes..?"

Greg sighed. "Look. If you used dirty needles--"

" _What?_ " Sherlock questioned. He thought that he was on drugs?!

"Sherlock-"

"No! I'm not using!" Sherlock said louder than he intended to.

"I know you don't like talking about it, but you know our rule--"

"I just told you that _I AM NOT USING!_ " Sherlock yelled at him, and now all eyes were on the detective. He doesn't yell often, because that puts pressure on a certain area that he doesn't want to put any unnecessary pressure on to.

As he took deep breaths to calm himself down a bit, he could feel the small trickles being absorbed with each deep inhale, and mentally groaned.

John came up from behind him and reached out his hand with a gentle "Sherlock.."

Sherlock flinched and pushed John's hand away from himself as he yelled "don't touch me!" 

"Okay, okay. Just calm down, alright?" John said calmly with his hands in the air to show his defeat.

Greg really didn't help matters, though. "You know, when you act out like this, it's really not helping you prove you're clean."

Sherlock growled and pushed up his sleeves, shoving his bare arms to Lestrade's face. "Still don't believe me? Or can we work on this case, now?"

Greg relented. "Okay, alright. But if you had to take antibiotics for an actual illness, how do I know you won't spread it around?"

Sherlock pushed down his sleeves again as he muttered "John cleared me," not wanting to admit that UTIs aren't exactly contagious.

That seemed to have been a good enough statement. 

Sherlock suddenly froze. "Oh.."

"Sherlock?" John asked as he and Greg raised their eyebrows at the detective. 

"Oooh you are geniuses!" Sherlock suddenly exclaimed.

Greg smirked. "Yeah, you're definitely sick."

"No, _HE_ was sick! He must have had some sort of flesh eating bacteria and didn't get it treated."

"So the guy chopped off his own arms and legs?" Anderson asked from where he had been taking notes. 

Sherlock mentally facepalmed. " _No_. How would he cut off his last arm? Idiot.. no, the two guys who brought his body here, did it." He sniffed the corpse, making the others cringe. "And a lot of alcohol was involved. His ‘helpful’ friends probably thought this was the start of a zombie apocalypse like that useless show on TV that John watched once." That last part earned him a glare from John. Sherlock turned around to Greg. "Their DNA is mixed in with his blood. Find the culprits and-"

"Sherlock there is no blood anywhere." Greg argued.

"Of course there is. John found it." Sherlock replied.

"Sorry, I did what now?" John asked. 

"Take off your shoe." He commanded and John obeyed.

Donovan immediately came over with a sample glass and started scraping the tiny smear off the shoe sole. 

John sighed, his shoe was now part of evidence and he probably wouldn't be seeing it again before the case was closed. Greg handed him one of the thin blue slippers from the forensic clothes as some sort of compensation. John pulled it over his sock.

"I could drive you two home. No standing around, waiting for a cab. And no stupid questions." Greg offered with a wink. 

Sherlock was about to decline, when he saw John's pleading look. He bit his lip. He didn't have the best memories from back then.

Greg noticed. "Sherlock, it's fine. You'd be surprised by what a cleaning service can do." He tried to joke but Sherlock didn't feel any better because of it.

John whispered to him "it's not a long ride to Baker Street." 

Sherlock, of course, knew this. Ten to fifteen minutes, maybe twenty if the traffic was bad. 

He sighed and nodded. 

Greg had the biggest smile since a very long time. 

What Sherlock had absolutely _not_ planned for, was the little perfume tree hanging from the back mirror. The air conditioning let the smells travel to the back of the car.

The citrus smell was itching in his nose and he really, really did _not_ want to sneeze right now. 

He subtly crossed his legs as some sort of reassurance as he tuned out whatever John and Lestrade were talking about.

Without any warning, he suddenly had one of his three-sneeze-attacks, catching the others off guard as well as himself. He groaned in annoyance at the unfairness of it all, as he leaked against his will. He tried to clench his abdominal muscles, but ended up telling it to the wrong ones and accidentally pushed out more urine with it. 

His breathing picked up, it was happening all over again.

John seemed to realize what was going on and carefully laid a hand on his thigh, trying to reassure him and keep him grounded. He could feel the tense muscles underneath his fingers and just felt sorry for him. 

Once they reached their flat, Sherlock stormed out of the car without so much as a glance, and John ended up thanking Greg for the ride, hoping that he wouldn't ask questions.

Well, at least the car seat wasn't ruined again, thanks to the pants, John thought bitterly.

Sometimes he wished he knew what it must be like for Sherlock. To really know how he felt in these situations. He knew that it was futile, but just one chance...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for the body swaaaap~
> 
> Edit: how do you like the change from ‘he didn’t have health insurance’ to ‘zombie apocalypse’? XD


	11. Body swap part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have joyful, desperate Sherlock silliness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to think back to what my friends told me years ago, about what it feels like to have to pee, when I had asked them. (That had been one awkward conversation in the group chat, once the 'why' and 'can't you feel it? o.O' questions started xD) Also reading a ton of omorashi stories helped haha
> 
> I never thought I'd have to say this but if I got anything wrong about it, please let me know lol

Sherlock woke up to the weirdest sensation he had ever felt his entire life. There was a nagging feeling in his abdomen, and it was keeping him awake. 

He turned from one side to the other, then back again, but the feeling wouldn't leave him alone. If anything, it only grew more persistent. 

He groaned in annoyance and realized with a start that this was not his voice, and neither was this his bed, or room for that matter.

He looked down at his hands. This was not his alabaster skin, and to his utter horror he couldn't feel the incontinence pants he was Sure he had on when we had gone to bed. Why did normal boxer shorts feel so weird?

Suddenly his brain had clicked.

He was in John's body.

He couldn't ponder on the 'why' and 'how'; his brain was distracted by this weird, new sensation.

"JOH- oh god." He giggled. It felt weird to call his name when he had his voice.. and body. He jumped up from the bed, stumbling a bit from the weird feeling it earned him in his abdomen, and rushed down the stairs. "JOHN! JOHN WAKE UP!"

He opened his room door and found John just waking up in Sherlock's body. "John, wake up! Look!" Sherlock said giddily like a five year old on Christmas Eve. 

"Sherlock? Wha-, why do I sound like you?" Asked John disoriented. He sat up quickly to a see a grinning.. himself staring at him. "Sherlock what did you do??"

Sherlock's grin vanished. "I didn't do anything, I swear!" He was squirming about as he stood there in front of his bed. 

John got a little smile on his face. "Sherlock, I think you need to pee." 

Sherlock stilled. "Is that how it feels?" He laid a hand on his abdomen, shivering at the sudden urgency. "Interesting.." He grinned again and walked out of his bedroom.

John got an irking feeling. "Sherlock, no experiments with my body!" He called as he got up and went after him into the living room.

"But this is so interesting, John!" Sherlock complained, then crossed his legs with a groan. "And annoying, actually. When does it stop?"

John blinked at him. "When does what stop? Just use the bathroom!"

"This weird feeling of course! It's.. distracting. It's like it kind of burns and throbs and argh I can't concentrate!"

John chuckled at him. "That's desperation for you. Seriously, just go pee."

Sherlock looked at him like he had gone crazy. "This is my one in a lifetime chance to know what it's like for normal people, John!" He fidgeted again. "How long can you hold it?"

John raised an eyebrow at him and shrugged. "I don't know? I usually just go when I wake up."

Sherlock blinked at him. "You're no help." He stated and decided to pace about. He felt so full, and like his body just wanted to get rid of it, but Sherlock didn't want to. 

Not yet, at least. He went into the kitchen to drink some water. He downed a whole glass in one go.

John rolled his eyes at his childish behavior. "If you give me a bladder infection, I will murder you in your sleep."

"Do relax. I just want to get the full experience."

The way Sherlock said this felt incredibly wrong to John. 

"And I also want to know how long you can hold it. Could be vital information." Sherlock said with a wink before he suddenly looked panicked. "Oh no.. no no no nononononono-"

John's eyes widened and for a moment he thought that Sherlock was starting to wet himself... His self.

But to his surprise, Sherlock started sneezing. He doubled over a bit, crossed one thigh a bit over the other and pressed a palm to his crotch. 

After his force-of-habit three sneezes, he checked his pants and looked at John in awe. "I didn't wet myself!" He said full of surprise. "I have to go and I didn't wet myself! Really, really have to go..." he muttered as he went back to squirming.

"Wait, you- oh it actually makes sense.." John mumbled to himself. 

"What?" Sherlock asked, distracted by the desperation he didn't know existed.

"When you sneeze. That you wet yourself when you sneeze. Or laugh, for that matter." John explained.

"And also cough, jump from heights and lifting or pulling heavy things. So try to avoid those." Sherlock explained in a hurry, grabbing his crotch now.

John wasn't amused by his actions. Not one bit. "Sherlock." He said sternly. "I said no experiments. Go to the bathroom, right now." He was actually getting a bit scared that Sherlock might end up wetting himself, after all. 

Sherlock made no move to the bathroom, though. Until John's bladder had had enough of the abuse Sherlock put it through and it gave a harsh squeeze. With the, compared to what he was used to, massive amount of liquid it held, it hurt way more than what he knew. Sherlock gasped and grabbed himself tighter. "You never said it would hurt this much!" He yelled at John.

John rolled his eyes. When Sherlock got control over his bladder again, he darted to the bathroom without further complaints. 

Now that he was alone and didn't have a squirmy Sherlock to focus on, John started to check out how Sherlock's body felt. He didn't need to pee, and even though the incontinence pants were much thinner than what he was used to, they still created a bulk between his legs, making him feel a bit uncomfortable and even self conscious that someone might notice.

Sherlock came back, having a startled look on his face. 

"What's wrong?" John asked, not seeing any wet spots on Sherlock's (his) pants.

Sherlock sat down at the kitchen table, looking a bit like he was in shock.

"Sherlo-"

"How in the world can you hold so much.." he breathed.

John blinked. Sherlock looked at him and continued. "I just pissed for a whole minute, and I didn't wet myself AT ALL when your bladder contracted." 

John felt a bit uncomfortable but Sherlock knew no shame when it came to science, so.. "Well.. yes." Was all John could think of.

" _How_." Sherlock whispered. He then got up to refill the glass. This needed further investigation.

John facepalmed behind him.


	12. Body swap part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone comments on it:   
> They are both of the same gender, one is a scientist and the other is a doctor. I don't think they would be all freaked out and 'checking their new body out' and being all embarrassed about it, like almost every body swap fanfic likes to make a huge deal out of. Maybe they would be a little bit, but not completely flustered about the whole 'below the waistline' thing. They really have other things on their mind.  
> (Also I'm asexual and have PTSD from sexual abuse as a very young child that's only resurfaced two years ago, so pardon me for not having them in any sexual embarrassment.)

John had prepared breakfast - Sherlock's taller body really came in handy when he needed to grab things that were higher up. It was a nice change, not having to stand on your tip toes to reach up high. 

As they were eating, Sherlock kept jiggling his leg up and down in rapid movements. John quirked an eyebrow at him. 

"I have to peeee.." Sherlock whined. "Never thought I'd say this in my life."

"Well you shouldn't have drank three glasses at once. And the bathroom is over there." John mockingly reminded him. He himself still didn't feel like he had to go at all, and his doctor senses were screaming at him that something was wrong. But he just sat calmly as he ate in peace, knowing why it was like this, and trying to ignore Sherlock's inability to sit still, for once.

As soon as his plate was empty, Sherlock stormed into the bathroom once more. John shook his head at him. 

When Sherlock came back, John said "you won’t get any closer to knowing how long I can hold it, when you drink more water than you should in a short amount of time." 

Sherlock groaned but he knew John was right. 

A couple hours passed, it was now mid day and John still didn't feel like he had to go. 

Actually, he- ..never mind, it was gone again. Whatever that tiny feeling had been.

His mind kept going back to that thought, and he wondered if he could even go if he tried. While he knew a lot about Sherlock's incontinence, he didn't know all of it. 

Sherlock was doing an experiment in the kitchen, trying to find out through a hair sample from both of them, how in the world they ended up in the other's body. He was trying to focus his microscope when John hesitantly asked him "Sherlock?" 

"Mm?"

"I still don't have to go."

"That's normal." Sherlock said, distractedly.

"I know that it's normal for you. But it isn't for me."

Sherlock was still for a second. "If you're so worried, you can just try to go."

John was still not fully convinced. "Will I be able to go?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Probably. Just push on it if you aren't."

John took that as good as anything and figured he'd just try and see. 

He felt a bit awkward when he pulled down the padded pants and figured that he would just sit down. That way he wouldn't have to clean up, should his stream be unpredictable, and he also didn't really want to step too much into Sherlock's privacy. 

He briefly wondered if Sherlock was as considerate as he was. Probably not.

As he sat there, nothing happened. No 'bladder suddenly waking up because of the familiar setting and position', no stream that suddenly started out of nowhere, just nothing. 

Sherlock had said that he could push down to help. Did he mean push down with his muscles, like a woman giving birth? Or push down with his hand? 

Neither option seemed very safe to him. He didn't know how much his bladder could be holding right now. But he also couldn't feel any swelling of that particular organ when he felt his abdomen with his hand, so he figured that it couldn't be too bad right now.

Still, he really didn't want to have to change himself into a new diaper, just because he pissed himself after not going now. 

He stood up a bit to turn on the faucet, hoping that that might help. 

It didn't, and after two minutes he gave up on that and turned it back off.

With a sigh he gently massaged the abdominal area, pushing down a little bit more with each moment, trying to stimulate Something. 

With a frustrated groan, John tried to remember what Sherlock had told him. Sneezing, coughing and laughing could make him leak. Maybe that could help him go fully.

But he felt silly trying to fake coughs or just start laughing, and he couldn't sneeze right now. 

He tried one last time to push down, this time using his muscles. He heard a few drops hit the water, but he hadn't felt a thing, and that was enough to startle him into seizing back up. 

Dammit.

-

Sherlock had to concentrate. He could always get a new sample (not that he really wanted to rip out more of his curls and deal with John yelling at him) but he really just wanted answers. 

Not only because he was growing rather tired of this almost constant need to urinate, but also because he already felt like he needed to go AGAIN. 

And John was occupying the bathroom right now, and knowing his own semi bladder shy body, he really had no choice but to try and focus on his work at hand.

That is to say, until he became so indulged into concentrating, that he forgot in which body he was in, and when his bladder gave a contraction, he didn't fight it. 

Until he felt his pants getting wet, and not the safe padding absorbing it, like he was used to. To his amazement, he found that he could Stop the small stream. He had control over muscles that he hadn't before. 

But all he could think was: John is going to be so furious. He had just pissed his pants a bit, literally. 

In all honesty, he had thought that it would have been John who'd have that happen to. Not him. He was the one with the functioning body right now.

Though it was too nice to think that once he was in a functional body, he would automatically not have accidents at all. It was all still very unfamiliar to have these sensations and this control. 

The boxers were growing cold and sticky against his skin, and Sherlock sighed as he made his way over to the bathroom. He'd need John to tell him where he kept his underwear, because he wasn't really keen on looking through his things. After all, he would be absolutely furious if someone looked through His things and discovered the padded pants, when they had no right to know.

-

John was in the process of trying to relax once again, when there was a hesitant knock on the bathroom door. Out if recent habit, John doesn't lock the door anymore, in case Sherlock has an emergency. Although what they would do when John was using the toilet at the time, he hadn’t really thought through as of yet.

"John..?" Why did Sherlock sound so.. scared? John wondered.

"Yes?" 

"I uh... I had a little.. accident." Oh. Well, he definitely hadn't seen that one coming. John quickly finished up, completely forgetting about his previous plan to pee.

"Come in." John said once he washed his hands. He was mentally preparing himself for the soaked pants, but when Sherlock came in, you couldn't see more than a tiny wet patch that had made its way through the pajama bottoms. 

"I could stop it." Sherlock stated matter-of-factly, and before John could say 'well of course', he remembered that Sherlock's body could not. "But I still have to go."

John took that as a 'please leave me alone for a moment'. "Right. I'll fetch you a change of clothes." John said and left him in peace.

Sherlock swallowed thickly as he peeled the soaking wet clothes from.. John's body. It brought back unwelcome memories, feeling the wet fabric on his skin and reeking of urine. He sighed as he stepped out of the pants with his feet as he sat on the toilet, trying to dry the skin with toilet paper as he took care of the reason he was even in this mess right now.

John came back downstairs and softly knocked on the slightly open door. "Sherlock, I brought you new clothes." He didn't get a reply, so he put them down on the faucet counter and quietly left Sherlock in peace. He looked very distraught and John wondered if he was just ashamed of himself for having accidents when he was in another body, or if he had been afraid of John's reaction, or if it had been something else entirely. The experiments having unexpected results? 

John looked over at the microscope that was on the kitchen table. He wouldn't be able to tell anything even if he tried to look. 

As he stood there, he suddenly felt his own pants get a little bit wet, though he was protected by the padding. There was no real reason for this to have happened, yet he really had just lost a very tiny spurt. 

His brain was immediately in a 'get to a bathroom RIGHT NOW' sort of panic, but he wouldn't disturb Sherlock right now.

John realized then that he felt pretty uncomfortable around his abdomen and wondered when Sherlock last had a bowel movement. Being constipated definitely wouldn't help matters. 

Then he realized that this was probably why Sherlock refused to eat (and drink) on cases. 

Was this how Sherlock felt on a daily basis? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that it's like a known thing for people to start peeing when they hear water running. For me, that isn't the case.


	13. Body swap part 3

Sherlock was off in memory land as he quickly rinsed John's lower body with the shower head. He hadn't expected the onslaught of memories that haunted his thoughts, ever since accidentally letting out urine when he shouldn't have.

When he could have avoided it.

Gone was the joy of experiencing what 'being normal' meant. All he could think about was how he still managed to mess up. 

Even the best, most durable machines could make mistakes, if not programmed correctly. 

And Sherlock had to realize that even with a functional body, his brain was still affected by a glitch. 

He considered if he should put one of his nappies on. Just to be on the safe side in case he messed up again. So that at least John's clothes were spared of his stupidity.

Taking one of his own towels, as not to bother John with something that He was responsible for, he dried his body off and considered one last time wether he should put on one of his nappies. On a perfectly functioning body. 

No matter. All that mattered was that he felt safe and secure. And right now he didn't trust himself at all.

He wrapped the towel around himself and called for John. He'd need his permission.

"Yeah?" John called from outside the door before hesitantly coming inside.

Sherlock was toying with the edge of the towel, looking down at his fingers. 

"It's um... c-can I wear one of my pants..?" He asked shyly and John thankfully understood what he meant.

"Of course you can." John answered, wondering why a tiny slip up suddenly made him so insecure. Sherlock had been so intrigued and.. happy at first. Now it was a dark contrast. 

John went out of his way so Sherlock could go and grab one of his nappies from his room, and John glanced at the toilet again. 

He still. Didn't. Have. To go. 

But he had leaked, just a bit ago. He couldn't understand it. 

Maybe he should take the pepper pot with him the next time he tried to go, John thought bitterly. 

Sherlock then came back, the towel draped over his arm and only wearing the padded pants below. He looked at himself in the mirror from the distance and gave John a look. "These really don't suit you."

John snorted and then burst out laughing at Sherlock turning and twisting to look at John's body with the nappy on from all angles.

Sherlock opened his mouth to warn him but.. John found out on his own when he suddenly crossed his legs, hunched over and muttered 'shit, no, nonono fuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK'.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at him. "I don't talk like that."

John glared at him halfheartedly. "I don't know how you put up with this constant not-knowing and just..."

Sherlock shrugged. "I have no idea how you deal with this distraction all day. It's no wonder you all can't use your brains."

John elbowed him at that insult and Sherlock grinned to himself. 

"Get dressed. I still haven't actually used the bathroom today." John said and Sherlock rolled his eyes at him. 

He still grabbed the pair of jeans and underwear that John had given him and went out to get dressed in his own bedroom.

What Sherlock hadn't considered was that when he came back out, he found Greg sitting in John's chair.

They hadn't locked the door.

They hadn't. Locked. The front door.

"Detective Inspector.. how long have you been here?" Sherlock asked in his best John impression.

"Long enough to know that you two are trying to imitate each other." Sherlock released a breath he didn't realize he had been holding and hoped that John had heard them. 

John. They had talked about-- Had Lestrade heard them?

"So what's Sherlock up to, now?"

Sherlock felt weird being talked about in the third person. "He uh..ex..periment?" 

Greg apparently bought it and laughed. 

"So.. why exactly are you here? Not that we don't mind your presence or anything.." 

"I'm here because his brother has sent me to check on you both, because Sherlock hasn't answered his phone all day."

Sherlock groaned on the inside. Why does his annoying brother always have to ruin things?

"And also to bring you your shoe." He said and pointed to John's missing shoe that was still in a bag, laying on the ground next to the sofa.

"By the looks of it, you two are having a lazy day." Greg commented and pointed to the pajama shirt and jeans that Sherlock still wore. Not his best choice, admittedly, but John was still in only his blue dressing gown and a--.. 

Then again, people were used to seeing Sherlock still in his sleepwear after cases, but not John. 

Sherlock looked sheepishly. "Yea, we're just enjoying a bit of relaxation after that case, is all." 

"Alright, well. Tell that lazy git to deal with his brother on his own." Sherlock frowned at the insult. Greg got up. 

"Oh don't worry, I will." He said darkly. 

The DI smiled and said "see you, John." And went for the door.

"See you, George."

Greg halted for a moment and turned around.

Then he laughed. "I don't know what it is with you two and acting like the other, but you are good." He said and finally left.

Sherlock slowly let out a breath and then went to the closed front door to lock it.

"You STILL don't know that his name is Greg?" Yelled John from where he was still in the bathroom.

Sherlock groaned and John burst out laughing again.

"Finally.." Sherlock heard him say and then went to his room to look for his phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve calculated and I won’t get done with posting everything that I have, before the surgery, when I post two each day, so.... today and tomorrow you’ll get 3 chapters, and the morning before the surgery you get the last one.


	14. Body swap part 4

Sherlock grabbed his phone and saw that it was still being bombarded by text messages, over and over. And they were all from Mycroft.

MH: I have a case for you.

MH: The life of the prime minister depends on it.

Then a few hours later:

MH: What is the meaning of this?

MH: Sherlock, answer me right now!

MH: What is going on?

And now he received his least favorite one:

MH: I will be at 221B in two minutes.

Sherlock groaned in annoyance. "John!" He called as he came out. 

"Yes?" John asked as he came out from the bathroom. 

"I need a shirt. Mycroft is coming in one minute and 45 seconds."

John's eyes widened. 

"John, now!"

"Yes, right, come on." John stumbled over his words and took Sherlock along with him upstairs to his bedroom.

When they came back downstairs, 'John' in a jumper and jeans, and 'Sherlock' still in his dressing gown, they came face to face with Mycroft Holmes. He had, of course, a key to the flat and could let himself in whenever he pleased.

Instead of polite formalities, Mycroft gave a sneer at both their crotches. 

"Does he know?" John whispered to Sherlock.

"Of course I know. You don't think I wouldn't keep an eye on Sherlock's bank accounts after the whole drug ordeal?" Mycroft asked him rhetorically. "What the real question is, is why 'John' is wearing one."

Sherlock blushed and looked down at the floor. "I.. uh.."

John stepped in. "Because even 'normal' people can have accidents!"

He didn't get the reaction he wanted. 

Mycroft Smirked. "I hope you know that you just gave yourself away, Doctor Watson." He said as he grinned at 'Sherlock'. 

"What, why?" John asked.

"Because my brother always stutters and stops talking whenever this topic arises." Mycroft explained, eyeing 'John' who refused to look at either man.

"Don't be alarmed, I knew the whole time. I have cameras installed everywhere in your flat; it was quite a spectacle to watch, this morning. This was just a final test, so to say." Mycroft explained. "It's quite interesting, actually. How in the world did you two manage to switch bodies?" 

Both Sherlock and John shrugged, ignoring the whole 'cameras' and 'spectacle' thing for now. "Sherlock's been trying to figure that out, himself." John explained.

"And?" Mycroft pressured. 

Sherlock sighed. "Nothing. Our DNAs are exactly the same as always. No mixing, no changes. It's like this isn't actually happening." 

That last sentence made John's eyes widen. "What did you just say?"

Sherlock gave him a strangle look. "Our genetics didn-"

"No no no, the other part."

Sherlock looked up for a second. "It's like this isn't really happening?" What the hell was going on with John?

"Sherlock, I think it was me." 

Both Sherlock and Mycroft stared at him and said "What?" at the same time.

"I wished, last night, to know what living is like, for you, Sherlock." He admitted and Sherlock looked away again, ashamed. "I thought that it would never actually happen, but that I still wished for one chance." 

"John, things don't happen because you Wish for them!" Sherlock suddenly yelled at him, completely enraged. 

"Maybe they d-" John stopped himself there as he looked at Sherlock's burning eyes. Realization dawned on him and his eyes widened. 

Oh god.. oh dear god.. how many times had Sherlock wished for a change, and it never happened?

Before he could say anything else, Sherlock stormed into his room and slammed the door shut. 

When he looked around, John found Mycroft with a hand over his face. "I hope you realize what you just did." Mycroft threatened in a quiet voice and removed his hand to glare at John.

John gulped. 

"A man's life is at stake, and you just... You can't say things like that to him." Mycroft scolded. 

"But maybe his wish finally came true, now that I wished for the same thing."

"John."

"Yea?"

"Shut up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert; John is right. (Only because I couldn't think of any better reason.)


	15. Body swap part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for talk about suicidal thoughts and drug use.

Mycroft hoped that it would help pull his brother out of his self loathing, so he slid a thin folder with the file and information of his ‘case’ under Sherlock's door. 

He then sat down with John, who still looked guilty. It felt strange to see that look on his little brother's face. 

"I've wanted to have him checked out by my doctors for years now. He never let me." Mycroft started in a quiet voice. It felt incredibly weird to tell things about your brother, to your brother's body.

John didn't say anything in reply.

"He always thought I didn't notice. It was hard Not to notice when your little brother kept running out of clean underwear." 

John frowned at that. This was personal stuff. Had Sherlock been present, he definitely would have killed Mycroft by now.

"Should you even be telling me this?" John questioned. 

Mycroft shrugged. "Sherlock is locked in his room, back so his self loathing. I am trying to tell you that he shouldn't be."

John glared. "You don't have to tell me that; I've been trying to tell him that ever since he told me about it. He doesn't believe me, though." John admitted.

"Of course he won't believe you." Mycroft stated, earning himself another glare. "He's been like this for Years, John. His entire Life. Have you any idea how much mockery and taunting he has been through? And no, not from me." He added when John gave him a death glare. 

"In his mind, he sees himself as a 'pathetic disgrace'; his words. He told me how he was sick of it all and wanted to cut out his bladder if no one would do it for him." John's eyes widened in shock. "Of course, that wouldn’t have really changed anything, but it just showed how deep his hatred for that particular part of himself truly went. He was high out of his mind at the time, but I had no doubt in mind that if something didn't change soon, my brother would harm himself, if not in a.. final way, even."

John shook his head. He got up, opened a window, had to get fresh air.

For some reason, he never would have thought that Sherlock's self hatred could be this deep. With a newfound worry, he looked at the locked bedroom door, and hoped he hadn't triggered anything worse in him with his words.

Mycroft came over to him at the window. "John, he won't do anything while he's in your body."

"Thanks. Good to know that he could go berserk once we get changed back!"

"That's not what I meant and you know it. Sherlock has learned to deal with his condition and thoughts accordingly."

"Not seeing doctors and hating on himself behind a locked door every time he has accidents, is Not what I call 'dealing with it accordingly', Mycroft!"

Mycroft didn't seem affected by John's outburst. "I have you know that ever since he got his.. special underwear, he has gotten a lot better. It also saved a lot of cleaning costs." Not to mention, they restored a bit of his pride.

They both heard the sound of the folder being pushed back from under the door into the hallway, making both men look over to Sherlock’s door.

Mycroft went over to pick it up and found a note taped on the see-through flap. 

The note was completely written on, in short notes on all the facts and who to arrest. At the bottom it said “I didn’t allow you to tell John about that, you prat.” Mycroft smirked.

The elder Holmes turned around to John and smiled. “He’ll be just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the crappy ending x.x


	16. Backstory 1

  
Sherlock hated driving. 

More specifically, he hated driving lessons.

He hated his driving teachers, he hated the constant complaints from them, hated how he couldn’t really concentrate, having to sit behind a wheel for hours and hours... he hated all about the lessons.

His parents had demanded he get a driving license. Mycroft had his, so he had to get one as well.

The theory part had been easy. He’d have to study in a little building for an hour, two days a week, with a toilet right next door - not that he ever used it; it was much too embarrassing to have all eyes on him as he walked to that door, with everyone knowing what he would do. No, he never used it, but knowing that it was there had a weird sort of a calming effect.

Sherlock had memorized all the questions and their correct answers. He passed on the first try, and was done the first in the test group that day.

What followed were hours upon hours behind the wheel.His instructor liked to pile them on, having him drive for four hours at once, sometimes. 

He was also very physical, not hiding his pride or annoyances. Sherlock would do something right or wrong, and be earned a slap on his arm or his thigh, getting either complaints or praise, and it would completely ruin his concentration. 

After he had to try four times to get into a side parking lot, he was earned a sudden slap on his thigh and a yell of “YOU DID IT, BOY! THAT WAS ANA+, RIGHT THERE!!”

Sherlock had startled bad enough to leak into his unprotected pants. And while nothing showed on his dark pants (yet), he just wanted this lesson to end right then and there. 

But he had to drive to the next poor sod and pick them up from their working place, so that they could switch places and Sherlock be brought back home. It couldn’t happen soon enough.

He was sweaty when he finally reached the next lad’s work place. He hurriedly got out of the car and into the back seat, not noticing how his instructor had gone out as well.

When he realized that he was all alone in the car, he glanced out through the car windows and looked around. The two lads were just standing there, talking. And.. was that a-- are you kidding me, right now?

They lit their cigarettes. 

Since he was alone in the car and the others were occupied with other things, Sherlock took the chance to cross his legs and slip a hand between them, discreetly holding himself.

He hated the feeling of the wet fabric against his skin, but he also didn’t want to risk any further leaks. Not that he could actually stop them from happening, no matter what he did, but he was a teen and if he believed that this would help him, then by god he would do so.

He was squirming around a bit when they finally got back into the car. They didn’t start driving immediately, and Sherlock tried to swallow his annoyance. He was tired, sweaty, and possibly on the verge of pissing himself. _Get. A. Move. On._

They finally drove away from the company and Sherlock tried to keep his mind occupied by listening to the radio and watching the scenery pass by his window, blocking out their unimportant chatter of ‘how was your day at work?’

They had to drive over a highway, one of the many that Sherlock had had to drive on, today. The high speed was almost reassuring.

Only through half the city now, and he’d be home.. finally...

He had managed not to leak again through the entire ride back home, and he felt pretty proud of himself for that.

Until his sadistic drive instructor said “the streets are clear, I want you to do an emergency brake.”

Sherlock felt his blood leave his face as those words hit his ears. There wasn’t enough time to brace himself, had the other teen already hit the brakes. His seatbelt felt like it had cut into his stomach and all at once his bladder released, barely ten feet from his front door.

Feeling tears threaten to appear, Sherlock quickly unbuckled his seatbelt, opened the car door, slammed it closed behind him and just _ran_. 

Fishing out his key from his pants pocket, he unlocked the door in a hurry, ran inside, shut it with his back and just stood there, panting as the rest of his urine slowly trickled out and traveled down his pant leg. 

Swallowing thickly, he couldn’t keep the tears from overflowing.

Figuring that nobody was even home, he began to openly sob, sliding down to the floor with his face in his hands, not caring about ruining the floor.

He had managed to limit his accidents at highschool, thanks to the two breaks after every two lessons, and the one bathroom down in the cellar next to the locker room, which no one ever used besides him, thanks to an “out of order” sign at the door because of one broken toilet that was never fixed all those years.  
And now here he was, bawling his eyes out with soaked pants, because of his inability to just hold it like a normal person.

“Lock?” He barely registered the voice over his forceful sobbing. 

“Heeyy.. what happened?” Mycroft asked him softly as he knelt down next to him, putting a hand on his heaving shoulder.

“I’m not taking any more driving lessons.” Sherlock choked out and just cried even more.

Mycroft didn’t really know what to say to that. 

“What good will it ever do if I-.. p-piss myself when I drive?” Sherlock asked bitterly in a shaking voice as he let his hands fall from his face.

“It wasn’t your fault. He had you driving all afternoon. You’re only seventeen.” Mycroft tried to reason.

Sherlock choked on a sob. “I didn’t wet myself while I was behind the wheel. He had the other guy do an emergency brake right in front of our house when he brought me home, and- I just—“ he broke down into sobs again, hands hiding his face again in an attempt to hide his vulnerability.

“It’s okay to cry, Lock..” Mycroft whispered to him as he gently wrapped his arms around his shattered little brother.

“Crying won’t change anything..“ Sherlock brokenly said as he continued to cry.

“No... but it will make you feel better.” Mycroft said soothingly as he held him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hated my driving lessons, and driving instructor, could you tell? To this day I have no idea how I even managed to get my license, but seeing how I can’t drive with my medication, I may as well hang it on my wall.


	17. After body swap

  
Sherlock woke up in his own body the next morning. They had both agreed to sleep in their body’s rooms, despite the awkwardness to sleep in a different bed, but Sherlock’s bed had a mattress protection on it and John’s didn’t. Sherlock sighed. He was kind of sad to be back in a dysfunctional body, but what could you do?

Sitting up, he realized that he had wet himself a little in his sleep. Okay, he could deal with that.He felt the bedding and thankfully it was dry.

He decided on taking a shower, so he started digging for fresh clothes.

It was still early and it seemed that John was still asleep upstairs, given the silence of the flat and lack of cooking smells.

When he grabbed a fresh pull up from the drawer, he noticed that there was only one left in the pack. (They are a bit thick when folded in the packs, so it's hard to tell how many are still in there, unless you count every time you take one out.)

He checked the other drawer for an unopened pack. But it was empty. 

Between the infection and the body swap, he had used more than he normally would.

How had he let himself run out of-

Sherlock dashed out of his room and hurriedly threw his jacket on and slipped into his shoes when John, suddenly appearing from upstairs, asked him "Sherlock? What are you doing?"

"Going out."

"In your sleep clothes? And where are you even going?"

"To the store."

"Sherlock, it's Sunday."

Sherlock froze. 

"What..?" He breathed and checked his wrist watch. It was, indeed, Sunday. Sh*t.

"Sherlock, what did you need to get?" John asked him, already suspecting that it had to be something important, by the way Sherlock had been in a hurry. 

Sherlock bit his lip. 

"Sherlock?"

"It doesn't matter."

"You're a bad liar, you know that?"

"It's not important."

"Wanna try again?"

"No, I'll stick with what I said."

John rolled his eyes. "Sherlock-"

"Just drop it." Sherlock argued. He was thinking of a plan on how he'd survive until tomorrow. 

For a moment he had thought that he could 'borrow' some sanitary towels from Mrs Hudson, but then remembered that the woman was long past her menopause. 

But she might have some pads. After all, most people her age start having issues with-

No. No, he couldn't ask her. He had tried so hard to hide it from everyone, including Mrs Hudson. He was not going to ruin it all, now.

"Sherlock!" John suddenly yelled, snapping him back to reality. "Just tell me what you needed. Best case, we might have it stored somewhere, or maybe Mrs Hudson might. Worst case, we could always ask your brother to-"

Sherlock barked a sarcastic laugh. "Never."

John sighed. "Will you just tell me what it was you so desperately wanted?"

"I'm not desperate!" Sherlock retorted, though standing there with his coat clumsily thrown over and one foot in his shoes, kind of broke the illusion.

John didn't say anything to it. "I'm just worried. You're not usually this in a hurry to get the shopping done." He halfheartedly joked. 

"You don't have to worry about me." Sherlock said. He was busy worrying about himself, he didn't need John for that. He suddenly bent over as his bladder contracted painfully, reminding him that he hadn't gone since yesterday. 

John knew better than to say anything as Sherlock practically ran to the bathroom, with one shoe, and slipping out of the long coat, throwing it in a heap on the floor on the way.

John just smiled at his silly behavior, his concerns momentarily forgotten. 

When the detective came back, John stated “so, we are back in our respective bodies, then?”

“It would seem so..” said Sherlock, mind elsewhere as he picked up his coat. He had taken out the spare nappy after coming home from the last case, after he had - once again - pissed himself in Lestrade’s car. 

That meant he only had the partly wet nappy he was wearing and two clean ones. Dammit. It was barely 7am. Damn it all..

“Sherlock?”

He’d just have to tune in on his body.. try to feel whatever tiny urge his brain might receive.

“Hey, Sherlock!”

Sherlock snorted. Like he hadn’t tried that before. It was all wishful thinking and all in vain.

”SHERLOCK!!!” John yelled, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“My god, John, what?” demanded Sherlock.

“What is going on?” John asked for what felt liked the fifth time this morning.

Sherlock sighed. “Okay.. I-.. I ran out..”

John pondered over that, sleepy brain still catching up. Then.. “Oooh.. you ran o-.. don’t you have any spares stored somewhere?”

Sherlock shook his head. “I only store them in one place.. less of a chance that someone might find them. And I took the one from my coat after.. Lestrade gave us a ride home.”

“How many do you have left?”

“Just the one I’m still wearing and wanted to change out of, and two fresh ones..”

John bit his lip. Sherlock would probably not want the one he was still wearing, from when Sherlock had put it on when they were in the other’s body.

This might be a bit of a challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm toying with the idea of Lestrade or someone else finding out by accident (literally) while it's still Sunday in this story. Let me know if you have any ideas or other ideas that you want to see, and I'll try to fill the prompts, so to say, after my surgery! ^^ Until then: I love you guys!
> 
> And to my new readers: I hope you enjoy it so far! 💜


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade gets the wrong ideas.  
> TW for reference to assault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you guys miss me, yet? I wanted to write and post this much sooner, but I had unexpected swelling where I could barely see out of my eyes for a few days x.x

Maybe he could just sort of skip the day by sleeping it away. 

That was the plan at hand. It wasn't often that he'd wet himself in his sleep, and he usually woke up from it, so he doesn't really have complete accidents if he's not awake. 

Sure, if he's awake, he could just always go the second he leaks. But that could sometimes be every ten minutes. 

Not drinking fluids all day wouldn't work out, either. He lived with a doctor, after all. John would most definitely Not let him do that. 

So: sleeping it is. 

But falling asleep mid day, with the sun shining through the curtains, was far more complicated than one might think. His brain wasn't going to just slow down and go back so sleep mode just because he wanted it to. 

Seeing how John was busy watching TV, Sherlock slipped into his bedroom. 

He knew that with his drug history, sleeping tablets weren't a good thing for him to take, but all be damned. 

Taking two of the bitter pills and swallowing them with half a glass of water, he decided to go and stay with John until the pills took effect. 

The program was incredibly boring, given that it was Sunday, and Sherlock fell asleep barely fifteen minutes later on the sofa, his brain already being drugged into unconsciousness before he could react.

John, not thinking anything of it, turned down the TV volume and draped the thin blanket over his friend. 

-

Sherlock was sharply pulled back to wakefulness when he felt warm wetness down his pant leg, spreading ever so slowly. He scrunched up his face in confusion before snapping his eyes open in realization. "Shit! No no nononono!" Well who would have thought, he actually did talk like that. 

He quickly flung the blanket off himself and sat up, crossing his legs in an attempt to temporarily stop the flow as he watched in horror as the dark stain spread further. 

John blinked at him for a moment before he realized what had happened. Was happening. 

Before he could say anything, Sherlock had jumped up and dashed into the bathroom, trying to undress his lower half as fast as he possibly could, so that at least the rest of his urine wouldn't soak his clothes further.

There was a soft knock on the door. "Sherlock, you alright?" 

He received no answer. Sherlock was overcome with embarrassment and unable to speak, in fear of possible tears. 

Well, good thing he hadn't showered in the morning. Otherwise that would have been a waste of water.

As he stood under the shower head, letting the hot water run down his back, he mentally scolded himself. This could have been prevented. If only he hadn't been so stubborn and just changed into a fresh nappy this morning, but no, he wanted to use them sparingly since he didn't have that many left.

And now the thing had leaked, because of his idiotic move of taking sleeping pills. 

What had he been thinking?!

With the towel wrapped around his middle, he quickly went into his bedroom. He still had the clothes (and new nappy) piled on his bed from this morning. 

Once he was fully dressed, he wanted to return the towel, and bumped into John, who seemed to be doing the same with the blanket.

The sofa. 

Sherlock dashed around the corner and stared at the soiled furniture.

He had ruined the sofa. 

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." The words left him before he could have thought of stopping them.

"It's fine." John replied from the bathroom as he collected cleaners and a cleaning cloth. "Most of it got on your pants, from the looks of it." 

Sherlock didn't say anything to that. He just stood there and watched John try to salvage the fabric. 

He was startled when there was a knock at their flat door. "Yoohoo boys, that officer wants to speak with you." Mrs Hudson chirped as she opened their door. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Couldn't he catch a break? "What does he want Now?"

"For you to pick up your damn phone for once." Lestrade said as he came up the stairs. Sherlock inwardly slapped himself for forgetting his phone's existence once again. Greg came in and immediately pointed to John cleaning the sofa. "What happened to the couch?"

A faint blush was starting to creep up on Sherlock's face. John came to the rescue. "It was an experiment. Gone wrong, as you can see."

Greg nodded, looking at Sherlock expectantly. "What did you do this time?"

Think of something think of something think of something-

He was panicking. Once again it was John who saved him. "Trust me, you really don't want to know." The doctor said in a convincingly disgusted voice. He stood up. "What can we do for you?"

"There's been a drowning." 

Sherlock blinked. "You don't call me in for normal drownings. What's wrong with this one?" 

Greg sighed. "They were kids."

"And?" Sherlock inquired. John shot him a glare.

"We had them identified and later DNA tested. They were stillborn twins, ten years ago."

Greg could see that he had caught Sherlock's interest. But to his surprise, Sherlock said "no," and walked away.

Greg spluttered. "No? What 'no'? I just told you we tested their-"

"Oh no no no, I'm sure you're correct on that. I just have no interest. Sounds boring." John knew how much that lie must have hurt, but he also knew why Sherlock had lied. His friend didn't want to leave the house, now that he only had one spare diaper left. 

"Boring? How can this sound boring to you?!" Greg exclaimed. 

Sherlock shrugged. "I'm pretty sure you'll get behind it on your own. Now if you didn't mind-"

"Sherlock you LOVE weird cases like this! This has to be a NINE at the Least! HOW can you say NO to that?!" 

He did have a really good point, thought the both of them bitterly. Sherlock searched for John's eye contact. 

John reassured him that everything would be just fine.

Sherlock looked back at Greg and nodded.

-

Greg had brought them in his police car to where they had found the bodies. Donovan and Anderson kept their mouths shut for once in their life.

He didn’t get to explain much before Sherlock saw a figure, far away from them. 

Greg, being the dumbass he is, yelled “Oi! You can't be here, this is a crime scene!” 

The figure ran away to where, under a car bridge, a river flowed into the lake. The water was a bit higher, thanks to London’s recent rain showers, and the plants that grew on the sides were slightly under water. 

Sherlock immediately started running after them, John following close behind. They chased the figure along the river for a good few hundred meters.

What he hadn’t planned for was the root sticking out under the water, and his shoe managing to get stuck under it. 

With a loud splash, Sherlock landed with his front in the shore, the cold water immediately soaking through his clothes; first his lower half and slowly seeping into his shirt. To his dismay, his coat seemed to soak up the water like a sponge; the last nappy he had put into the pocket in case they were out longer than expected, would be ruined.

John stopped and turned immediately, glancing back to see the figure running off. 

“John! Go after him!” Sherlock yelled at him as he turned his body to get his foot free. He froze when he felt not only the cold water seeping in the padding, but also warmth slowly being soaked up. Damn the cold water, causing this stupid body response. 

“Sherlock?” John asked from beside him, holding an arm out for Sherlock to get up. Sherlock looked back to where the guy had disappeared to, and gave a small sigh as he looked away for a moment, before taking John’s help and being pulled back to his feet. 

“You alright?” Lestrade asked as he jogged over. 

“Fine.” Sherlock snapped. “He escaped, thanks to you lot being so slow.”

Greg didn’t comment. “Come on, you have to get out of those clothes.” 

Sherlock thought about how undressing himself was completely out of the question. 

"It's fine.” He said and passed Greg as he walked in the direction of where the street would be.

"Come on, you'll get hypothermia and get seriously ill if you stay in those wet clothes." Greg argued, going after him and wondering why John wasn't backing him up. 

"I said it's fine." Sherlock repeated, not stopping.

"Sherlock, no cab will take a man with sopping wet pants." Greg stated and Sherlock tried not to flinch at the words, or say 'I know'.

Seeing how no one else was saying anything, Greg had had enough of the silence and grabbed Sherlock's arm, pulling him away. "Come on. I always have spare clothes in the car, just change behind it." He said slightly annoyed as he pulled the detective with him. He shook his head, Sherlock could be brutally honest and be painfully blunt, and then he would become this incredibly modest and self conscious Thing. It really didn't fit his personality. Besides, thanks to the police tape everywhere, no by-passer could get close enough to even see them. Well except for whoever that was back there.

Sherlock stood behind the open car door, not making any move to undress himself. Not with Greg standing there, nearby, waiting with a change of clothes on the backseat. Not happening.

When Greg realized this, he rolled his eyes and decided to just do it himself. He was quick to move his thick, heavy coat out of the way and got started on removing the detective's pants himself.

"Hey- what-?!" Sherlock yelped, trying to pry Greg’s hands away from his pants.

"If you want to act like a child then I'll deal with you like a child!" Greg scolded as he managed to unbutton his pants. Having had to deal with a lot of drug smugglers, he had a few tricks to get squirmy people undressed in a matter of seconds.

What the inspector hadn't expected, was what was Under his trousers. Before he could get a good glance at the white tip that went above the underwear, Sherlock had already pulled his pants back up. "What was that?" Greg asked.

"What was what?" Sherlock countered as he closed the buttons again, refusing to look at the man he had known for years.

Greg went in front of him to make him look him in the eyes. "You might think that I'm oblivious to a lot of things, and granted, most of the time you are correct. But I am not blind, and I know you." Greg said gently. Sherlock still refused to look at him. He swallowed painfully.

"You don't know everything." It was barely above a whisper, but it hit Greg like a ton of bricks. He quickly grabbed the genius' arm when he tried to get away again. 

"What do I not know?" Greg demanded, though still with that gentle tone. No need to alert suspicions from the others. 

"Sherlock, please.."

"..can you get John?" Sherlock asked in a quiet voice. He wasn't ready for this. 

Greg kept his eyes on him for a moment longer. Then he nodded. "Yeah, sure." 

He left Sherlock alone and went over to get John. He wondered, what could possibly be so bad that Sherlock didn't even want him around? He had known the young man for six years, he was like a son to him, and he wants John? What did John know that he didn't?

"John?" He said when he reached the others. "His majesty is requesting you." He shouldn't feel such remorse, but he couldn't really help it. 

John didn't ask any questions, just nodded and let Greg point him to where he had left Sherlock. As he watched John go, Greg wondered if maybe something had happened to Sherlock, to make him so uncomfortable to undress himself in front of others. His blood ran cold as he considered what kind of abuse could have occurred to make him act like this. 

And it turned to ice when he thought of how his attempt at removing his trousers could have accidentally triggered something. 

Sherlock considered making a run for it when he was alone, but he knew that John would end up looking for him and that just wouldn't do.

“Okay what’s really wrong?” John asked him quietly when he came closer. 

Sherlock was staring down at the ground, wondering how he could even word this. ‘I pissed myself, the last pants I had are ruined, Lestrade might be on to me and I have no idea what to do now’ was a bit hard to say. He tried to swallow down the humiliation.

“Sherlock...” 

“Does he know?” Sherlock suddenly asked.

“What?”

“Lestrade... does he.. did he say anything?” 

John shook his head. “What happened?” 

“He saw... he um.. he tried to take my pants off and he.. saw a bit ..” 

Since Sherlock always spoke in riddles about this, John had become quite good at understanding and connecting the little bits and pieces. “No, he hasn’t said anything.”

They stood in silence as neither knew what to say next.

Sherlock just felt incredibly uncomfortable in the cold, wet clothes and nappy. He shifted, knowing that he couldn’t put on the spare one he had in his coat, and now he was stuck. He didn’t know what to do.

John cleared his throat awkwardly. “He’s right with one thing though, you really do need to change.” He said, his inner doctor trying to take over as he pointed to the clothes that were piled in the car.

"John.." Sherlock started, looking at his friend with fearful eyes. John gave him his full attention. "..when I fell, it.. the water.." he groaned at his inability to talk and just put a hand inside the hidden pocket and pulled out the cold, wet, unused nappy for John to see.

Somehow, holding it out in the open like this made him feel watched and uncomfortable, and the ice cold reality that he had no new diaper to change into....

"What do I do now?" Sherlock asked him in a pleading voice, making him appear much younger. 

John bit his lip. He didn't have an answer to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a few ideas but let me in on anything you guys come up with!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The awkwardness finally continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really sorry for my absence. It seems like every time when I try to deal with something that happened, more shit happens, and more shit happens,.... it's like everything is falling to pieces since the year started. And I'm not talking about the Pandemic, here. Sigh.

“Okay, here is what we do.” John started, as Sherlock held out his coat and tried to squeeze out the excess water from it, and took out the fresh pair of pants from the backseat. “You stay in your ‘underwear’ and change into these.” The diapers had a thin plastic layer around them, so it wouldn’t leak obvious spots on the other trousers. 

Sherlock grimaced at the thought of staying in the cold nappy any longer but didn’t have a backup plan. They didn’t exactly have anything to dispose it without anyone finding it. 

“Fine. Just turn around and keep watch.” Said Sherlock and John obeyed his orders. No need for him to see the slightly obvious bulge of the soaked padding. He put down his coat on the car floor and started on getting out of his wet pants.

John had the pants ready for Sherlock to take them when he managed to get out of his drenched ones. “Are there socks?” Sherlock asked him as he painstakingly tried to pull the pants up his wet skin. 

John checked the pile and found some white tennis socks. He held them out for Sherlock to take as well, and stepped aside so he could sit down on the backseat to get out of his shoes and socks.

“Why does this always happen to me?” Muttered the detective as he pulled off the second drenched sock off his feet.

John smiled sadly at him. He kind of wondered it himself, to be honest.

Sherlock then checked again that absolutely nobody was coming, and got out of his shirt. John exchanged it for the new one.

To say that Sherlock looked absolutely silly was putting it mildly. The blue shirt and grey pants were baggy on him, the pant legs too short, revealing the white socks as he sat there. 

Sherlock got out and stood there, trying to see if anything showed. “Can you tell?” He asked John.

John shook his head. “Then again, nobody is going to question that you got huge balls.” He joked and Sherlock first looked at him as if he went insane, before catching what he meant and snorted, shaking his head.

“I’m not brave, John.”

“Well, to me, you are. Incredibly brave, and strong, and a bit too smart. I think I get what you mean with ‘all that matters is the brain, everything else is just transport’. Because you’re still the most brilliant man I’ve ever seen.”

Sherlock smirked at him. “I thought you said I was an idiot?”

“Yeah well, that too.” John said and grinned. At least Sherlock wasn’t so down-ridden anymore.

“What time is it?” Sherlock asked him all of a sudden. He was inspecting his wrist watch, which had a couple of huge cracks in the glass, making it difficult and almost impossible to read anything through the cracks. It must have broken when he fell on those rocks. 

John checked his wrist watch. “2:38. Did you get hurt at all?” He asked Sherlock, his eyes already checking him over.

“Maybe a couple bruises, but otherwise, nope.” Sherlock replied. 2:38? Why was this day dragging so much? How is he supposed to survive until tomorrow??

And not only did he have to manage till morning, but he'd also have to go in public without any protection. The last time this was the case, had been years ago, and were not pleasant memories at all.

They heard steps approaching. "You gents ready?" Lestrade asked.

"Yes." Called both. 

Greg came to them. He tried not to look at Sherlock. "Alright, let's get you guys home." 

The entire car ride was spent in silence. Everyone was deep inside their thoughts.

Greg was trying to figure out when he first noticed that something was wrong with his consultant, and John and Sherlock were both wondering how in the world they would manage the rest of the day and night.


	20. Chapter 20

As soon as they were home, Sherlock brought his drenched clothes into the bathroom. Once he got them into the washing machine, he started filling the bathtub. 

-

About an hour or so later, John started to feel a nudge from his bladder and wondered what Sherlock was doing for so long.

He ventured to the bathroom door and softly knocked. The light was still on, and he found Sherlock still in the tub. "Are you trying to see if you'll grow webs and fins if you stay in the water long enough?" He joked. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes at him. "I'm staying here until the shops open tomorrow."

John froze at the seriousness of his voice. "Until tom- Sherlock! You can't stay in water for-.." he checked his watch and calculated, "16 hours!"

"Yes I can."

John had his face covered behind his hand for a moment. "Do you know how much harm that will do to your skin?" 

Sherlock shrugged. "Still better than having to clean up every ten minutes." 

John shook his head at him. "At least keep refreshing the water so you don't die from hypothermia." 

Sherlock replied by doing just that. 

Remembering why he was here in the first place, John felt inclined to just go downstairs and ask Mrs Hudson to let him use her bathroom. It somehow felt wrong to do _that_ with Sherlock in the room. 

Not because he was shy or anything. But simply out of respect. It felt like jogging next to someone in a wheelchair, unnecessarily rubbing it in.

Did he _really_ just think of Sherlock as disabled?

He shook his head at himself and just left the room. 

Mrs Hudson ended up inviting him for some biscuits while he was in her flat.

-

A good two hours later he came back upstairs. He instinctively checked up on Sherlock again, carrying a bowl with cookies and a fresh cup of tea, since the idiot won't get anything by himself.

Since he was feeling kind, he also took out the freshly washed clothes and hung them over the laundry rack. 

"Are you seriously going to stay there until morning? Won't you get bored?" John asked him.

"I can always go to my mind palace." Sherlock answered simply, like it was a completely normal thing to do.

John didn't seem pleased though. "I don't want you falling asleep and accidentally drowning yourself in the middle of the night." Besides, this has been ridiculous enough already.

-

Another argument later and Sherlock was getting dressed in some pajamas. He felt incredibly weird without any sort of protection, and he didn't feel secure, but there was nothing he could do about that now. 

He'd be fine, he told himself. He had never actually wet the bed, aside from a few small mishaps here and there. 

With uneasiness, he managed to fall asleep.

-

Sherlock woke up with a jolt. 

He sat up, heart hammering in panic.

He had completely soaked his bedsheets. The mattress would hopefully be fine thanks to the mattress protection, but that tiny hope was unimportant compared to the bigger picture. This has **_never_** happened  before.

The tears started to flow uncontrollably, and a moment later, all sorrow got replaced with anger. Furious anger.

Sucking in a breath, clenching his yaws, he turned his hand into a fist. 

With enough force to make him have to tense in order to keep his balance, the fist slammed right into his abdomen. 

Over and over and over. 

His eyes only stared into the darkness, uncaring of any consequences. 

This was the punishment his transport deserved for malfunctioning.

-

Sherlock brought the stripped bedsheets, as well as his clothes, into the washing machine. The poor machine seemed to be working overtime because of him. 

Closing the door as not to disturb John and Mrs Hudson, he heaved a defeated sigh and got back into the bathtub.

-

Sherlock didn't know what time it was, thanks to his broken watch and lack of a window in the room, when Mycroft was suddenly in their flat, carrying a large carton box and setting it down on the bathroom floor.

Deducing what the box contained, Sherlock granted his brother an appreciative nod, while commenting "a bit late."

Mycroft grinned icily. "Yes, well. I have been out of the country, and on my flight home I get a message that my dear brother has had two accidents on furniture in one day."

Sherlock couldn't help the blush crawling up on his face. "I ran out.."

Mycroft just sighed. "Don't let it happen again." He kicked at the box with his shoe. "These should last a while." 

He then left, so that his little brother could finally dress in peace.

On his way out, he crossed paths with John and only gave him a "morning, Doctor Watson" before he let himself out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock, stop having accidents or I'll have to add more tags lol


	21. Unpredictable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For those who really wanted Greg to finally know; YOUR WAIT IS FINALLY OVER!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how you guys feel about the whole 'others finding out secret'. I like for them to actually keep it a secret for a bit more, and not just start a story with how X finds out about it. I want the characters to actually put effort into keeping that secret, because: why bother saying 'he kept it a secret for X years' and then they just come clean, just like that, at the very first inquiry?  
> [This Note completely ignores what happened in chapter one. Simply because I needed it to happen this way. But with the other characters finding out I'm not going easy on them.]
> 
> Anyways, on with this long ass chapter. (You guys deserve it, I love you all Xx)

Now that the nappies were restocked, Sherlock felt his confidence return a little bit. Neither had lost a word about what happened before this morning.

Both men made sure to make use of the bathroom before they left in the morning. 

They still had a case to solve.

-

Sherlock had been looking through the files on what they had on the twins, while Lestrade and John tried searching through the internet on separate PCs. 

Sherlock had originally planned on trying to get into a kind of schedule, by just coming along with John whenever the other went to use the bathroom. It had been an attempt at trying to get over his ridiculous shyness, but with Lestrade in the room he didn't have the guts to just say "I'll come with you" or even just quietly go with John.

So when John left to go use the men’s room, Lestrade took his chance. He went over to stand next to him as Sherlock read through the pages. He cleared his throat. “Listen um..”

Sherlock stilled. 

“I wanted to talk to you.. in private.” Greg continued. 

“About what.” Came the tense reply.

Greg cut to the chase. “I want to know when, what and how it happened-“

“What in the world are you talking about now?” Sherlock interrupted him. 

“The assault, Sherlock.” Said Greg flatly.

“What assault? They were killed-“

“Not the case. Goddamit. I’m talking about You.”

“Me?”

“Yes! You! Of course you.”

“...I still don’t understand.”

Greg sighed. “When you fell into the river and wouldn’t undress in front of me. I know that s _omething_ happened.”

Oooooh.. shit. “Nothing happened.” Okay, that was probably the stupidest thing he could say, but it was the truth.

“Sherlock.. please be honest with me.. if we can catch the-“

“Nothing. Happened.” Sherlock repeated in slow, firm words.

Greg and him stared into each other’s eyes. Greg sighed. “Alright. Then tell me why you acted the way you did.”

Sherlock looked away again. “I can’t..” He paced a few steps, getting as much space as he could between himself and Greg as the room allowed for.

_‘No!’_ Greg felt the sand trickling through his fingers. He was so close. He couldn't mess up now. _‘Please Sherlock, don’t shut me out anymore.’_ He gave Sherlock a pleading look. “Please, Sherlock.. don’t you trust me?”

Sherlock bit his lip. Just then John came back in and stopped the second he felt the tension in the room. “What’s going on?” He demanded, looking back and forth between Sherlock and Greg for an answer.

“I want to know what’s going on with my consultant.” Said Greg sternly and crossed his arms over his chest, thinking that maybe John would shed some light on this.

John gave a quick glance at Sherlock, who looked at him worried. John turned back to Greg. “I won’t say a thing unless he’s ready.” 

Greg sighed and leaned back against the table. “Unless either of you tells me otherwise, I will stay with my assault theory.”

“Well it _wasn’t!_ ” Sherlock snapped immediately, both ignored John’s “wait what?”

Greg glared at him now, too. “Well what do you want me to believe? You’re suddenly ill, need antibiotics, you don’t answer your phone anymore, hid when I came over, and now you don’t want me around when you have to get out of soaking wet clothes!” He yelled, and Sherlock winced slightly at that last part. He’d had enough people yell at him for that last part, to last a lifetime.

Sherlock sighed. Granted, he did have a good point. It really did seem like.. what Lestrade thought it looked like. “I _promise_ you, nothing of the sort happened.”

John tried to think of something to say, when Greg went closer to Sherlock and gently asked “then please just tell me at least what the antibiotics were for.” 

Sherlock looked away for a few moments, then looked into Greg’s pleading eyes. “It was a.. it was-“ _goddammit_..

“He had a bladder infection.” John came to help. Greg looked over to him, wondering why Sherlock hadn’t just said so himself. 

"A what?" Greg asked in disbelief.

"A bladder infection! For gods sakes, do you never listen?!" Sherlock suddenly snapped. John gave him a pointed look. 

Greg eyed him carefully. "Since when do you get infections? Or get sick in the first place?" In all the time that he'd known the detective, he had never been sick. Not to his knowledge, at least, but he wouldn't put it above Sherlock to work with a high fever and still get the job done.

Sherlock didn't like being questioned like this. He slumped back against the table. 

It was only when his ears head the tiniest crinkling sound, which seemed to be amplified in the quiet room, that he realized his mistake.

Seeing the wide eyes of the other men inside the room, staring at him, he felt his heart stop. _'Please don't quest-'_

"What was that?" Greg asked and walked closer to him. 

"Nothing." Sherlock said, giving John a pleading look. John shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, he couldn't help him now. 

"Sherlock I'm done with playing games!" Greg yelled at him and Sherlock flinched, making him soften up a little. "I just want to know what's going on.. we have known each other for years now. I went through hell with you." 

He was guilt tripping him now and they were all fully aware of that. Sherlock looked at John again. The doctor sighed and nodded at him. 

Staring at the floor as he exhaled ever so slowly, Sherlock tried to make his mind blank, as not to think too much about the words he was about to say out loud.

"I'm.. _incontinent_." 

Time seemed to freeze to a stand still. Sherlock hesitantly looked up to see Greg's reaction.

He could hear the cogs turning in the DI's head as he tried to put the pieces together.

"You're... my god, really? You're not pulling my leg here?"

Sherlock seemed agitated at that. It took a huge blow to his seemingly buried pride to admit this out loud, and now he was being _questioned_? 

With a death glare he did what he never, ever would have dared to do: he turned sideways and undid his trousers and pulled them down, only enough to show his special undergarment. 

Both Greg and John seemed shocked, although John's eyes weren't staring so much at the diaper, but what showed up above it. Sherlock looked down confused, and mentally slapped himself when he noticed the dark purple and green bruises that were starting to fully develop now.

"Are you sure you weren't assaulted, after all?" Greg asked, in all seriousness.

"You said you didn't get hurt when you fell!" John snapped at him. Sherlock saw and took his chance at getting out of this argument. "I did say that I'd probably have bruises. It's not my fault that bruises take ages to appear!" _'Please buy it, please buy it, please buy it....'_

John let it go, although he gave him a look that said 'we are talking about this later'. 

Sherlock pulled his trousers back up and tried not to wince at the slight pain from pressing against the bruises. The weird effect of only feeling pain after seeing the wounds would forever be a mystery to him.

"Can we please just get this damn case solved now?" Sherlock demanded, and thankfully not another word was lost about anything other than the case.

In the end, it had turned out that the mother had never done any checkups, so they never knew that she had twins in the first place before they were born. And the birth had been at home. The mother died due to complications after birth, the babies alive. The father had taken a huge shock when he realized that his wife was dead, taken the twins, and had driven away. 

Apparently their family owned an old house, which had a bunker. 

This guy had called the services and told them that she had died from sepsis due to the babies having died inside her when they were barely at three months, and actually managed to hide away with his two children for ten years, with no soul reporting him missing, and since the babies were technically never alive, he didn't have to bother with compulsory school. 

Then, one day, ten years later, his psyche must have finally snapped, and he took his kids outside (probably for the first and last time in their lives) and drowned them at night.

Now they only had to catch the guy, though the whole backstory was incredibly disturbing to the lesser mortals in the room. 

Thankfully they had the DNA tests and could easily identify the father.

Sherlock had, to the amazement of the others, been able to deduce a lot about him and they managed to find him rather easily. 

Although he turned out to be very hostile and attack happy. They had finally managed to apprehend him and Lestrade brought him to the station, where Sherlock and John were waiting for a cab to take them home. It was now late afternoon and John was starving. They had worked on this case all day long and they were both tired.

-

Since Sherlock was a picky eater, John was done with his plate long before him.

"Alright. I'm gonna head to the bathroom and then turn in for the day." Said John as he stretched. 

As he watched him go, Sherlock suddenly froze with the fork in mid air. He finally remembered what he had forgotten to do all day. 

He slowly set the fork down and tried to calculate how many hours it had been. 

This was the most annoying part of his condition. It was completely unpredictable.

Depending on how his nervous system was feeling, he could have any of the various types of incontinence. From urge to stress to reflex to overflow to mixed; he had the full spectrum. He could have days where his bladder seems to be overactive, and then there were days like today, where it apparently pretends to hibernate and he often didn't even leak, for whatever reasons. 

How his body processes all of this is beyond what he can understand. 

He couldn't even feel his bladder inside, so he tentatively laid a hand over it, to estimate wether he should be concerned, very concerned, or 'call an ambulance'-concerned. 

Like popping a balloon, he seemed to have accidentally pressed the big red button, and the dam just broke down, soaking up so fast that he was momentarily shocked. 

Then he realized that he was technically pissing himself at the dinner table, and, despite knowing that this was absolutely  _insane_ after so many hours, he tried to stop the flow. 

He didn't succeed, it just kept rushing out of him, that no amount of crossing legs and clenching muscles would have any chance, and he couldn't grab himself through the thick padding.

So he was left just sitting there, breathing tensely because this was  _so wrong_ , and hoping that the thing didn't overflow and leak.

"Sherlock? Are you-?" John startled him enough to actually jump and hit his knee from under the table. "Sorry." John apologized, and awkwardly retreated to give Sherlock some sense of privacy. It had been forceful enough to be heard from across the room, and he even felt a bit embarrassed for his friend.

Just when he wondered if his stream would ever end, it was suddenly only a trickle, and Sherlock made a run for the toilet. The carton box was still in the bathroom, so he could easily change without needing to leave the privacy of the room. 

Just as he had predicted, a short time after he was seated on the porcelain, he winced at a painful spasm and the flow resumed its earlier powerfulness.

Sometimes he wished that He had the control over his body, not the other way around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to point out really quick, because I know that some might be wondering:  
> The drugs bust never happened in this alternate timeline. Greg had semi forced Sherlock to get clean in order to help on cases, and only a while after helping out did he first buy the 'pants'. So Greg never had a chance of seeing them before now.  
> Hope this clears up some questions!
> 
> Also the case was inspired by something that actually happened where I live (minus the deaths); a family had locked themselves into a bunker for 20 or so years. Their kids didn't even know that a world outside existed. How they managed to pull that off is beyond me.


End file.
